


Obsessive Love

by jokokekemato



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Angst, Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4355714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jokokekemato/pseuds/jokokekemato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daehyun is a white dove and Yongguk isn't scared of the bloody path he carves to reach what rightfully belongs to him. No matter who stands in his way, Daehyun will always be his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Attraction

It starts with the blackouts. Yongguk would be listening to the radio, doing absolutely nothing, and then the next thing he knows, he is at the gym. Or in a café. Or in his car, in the middle of the highway. It serves for some very confusing and dangerous situations.

At first, he chalks it up as exhaustion. His job as a composer requires late night writing and early morning revision. The fact that he lives so far away from society doesn’t help much either, but he can’t concentrate with the din of traffic, other people to or from work, and the screaming in the streets that come with elections or sporting events. His house is isolated; a good thirty minutes from Seoul. He sometimes wonders if the lack of socialization contributes to the general depressiveness of his songs, but perhaps that is just the way he is.

But as the weeks drag on and his work load lessens because there are a lot of new, younger composers who can keep up with the demands of their employers, he finds that they do not stop. If anything, they grow worse. He would remember falling asleep with earphones stuffed into his ears and then wake up in the grocery store, fully dressed and with no recollection of what had happened during the blackouts. It is slightly unsettling; he isn’t sure what triggers the sudden episodes, but nothing has come from them and so he doesn’t worry much. It isn’t until he tells one of his friends that they suggest going to see a psychiatrist. Yongguk makes the appointment and his life continues on.

At the moment, he has just woken from one of the frequent black outs. He could recall walking home from his car, hands pushed into his pockets. It was cold and the street was mostly abandoned, with the exception of him and a few others. All Yongguk had been doing was walking and then- and then what? He didn’t know. It frustrated him.

Running a hand through his hair, Yongguk fetched a glass from the cupboard and filled it to the top with water. At least he would see the doctor today, which would hopefully clear up these problems. He wasn’t too concerned; they couldn’t be that bad. It wasn’t like he had gotten into any sort of trouble from them, and it seemed that he simply continued on with his regular routines during the time he was unconscious. Maybe it was just his brain’s way of shutting off and giving him a little bit of time without stress.

Walking into his living room, Yongguk flopped down onto the couch and immediately propped his feet onto the small table in front of him. He fished around for the remote, finding it wedged between the pillows, and turned on the TV. Watching the daily news was a sort of routine for him. He liked knowing what was going on around him, even if it didn’t concern him as an immediate. Currently, they were showing a story about some woman who sold cookies and gave the money to the homeless. It was a heartwarming story, yes. Yongguk considered himself quite virtuous; he regularly volunteered at the orphanages, he had adopted two children in Kenya, and he tried to help whoever he could. The true purpose of life would be to aid each other along in the journey of life, not bring others down. That was what he believed.

The story switched to the station and the very pretty anchorwoman. The headings read of a recent assault on a young teenage boy, close to where he lived. Sitting up, Yongguk took a sip of his water as the details played and the voice over of the woman continued.

“…. _at around five, a teenager was assaulted as he walked home from school today. The boy, whose name has not been released, said that he was simply heading home from afterschool tutoring. The man grabbed him by the wrist and tried to pull him into a nearby ally. When he struggled and yelled, he was released. There was no clear visual of the attackers face, but he is around 180 cm tall and of medium build. If you have any information concerning this, you can leave an anonymous tip at…”_

Yongguk turned off the TV. That had been around the time that he had been walking home, and it was in the general route where he walked. Did he remember seeing anyone suspicious looking? Not that he could remember. At least the boy hadn’t been harmed. Next time, he would be sure to keep an eye out for someone who looked weird and make sure that he remained aware of his surroundings.

He stood up, leaving his glass on the table, and proceeded to his study. The place was littered with scraps of paper, tangled headphones, old records and his iPod. A deadline is coming up, and he has only completed the rapping part of the song. He still needs the chorus. His mind is whirling with ideas and thoughts and emotions, but every time his pen touches paper, nothing transfers over. It is the worst time for a writer’s block, especially since this song could pay for a good two weeks of his life. With a sigh, he settles into his chair and pulls the half-finished lyrics closer. He really needed to work. This was important.

Yongguk ends up staring out his window, sheets swept to the side to accommodate his feet, watching as the sun sets slowly. His appointment is at seven, and then he has promised a friend that he would be attending a party. It is supposed to be for the composers and entertainers of Seoul. According to his friend, ‘everyone who is anyone will be there’. It is not a convincing argument, but he agrees because he should get out of his house once in a while and because there will be free drinks. Who could deny something like that?

A glance at his phone reminds him that he needs to leave soon, in order to be at the psychiatrist in time. It’s unlikely that he will actually get any more work done, so he packs everything into neat piles and places his writing utensils back into their proper spots.

He dresses in jeans, a white button down and a leather jacket before leaving his house.

The drive is long and time consuming. It is rush hour – people are returning back home from their jobs, parents cart their children around to various sports and activities. Yongguk watches as a group of young boys cross the street, and his mind wandered to the boy who had been attacked. It was strange; it was usually quite quiet and peaceful around where he lived. At the outskirts of Seoul, it was rare to see any sort of crime. Small events like assault couldn’t compare to what happened downtown in the big cities. But perhaps it had been one of those delinquents passing through, looking to bother a few kids. He has seen it happen before, back when he still attended university. They had a bit of laughs, seeing the younger boys and girls put their heads down and almost run past. Yongguk had been part of that kind of group, once upon a time. It gave an innocent sense of power. They were the stronger ones and the little school kids knew it.  

By the time he has reached the fancy looking building, he only has five minutes before his meeting. Yongguk rushes through the paperwork, filling out all his personal details and medical records and family history before being ushered into a room. It’s painted a light blue, with two chairs and a coffee table positioned in the middle. To Yongguk, it looked rather bare, but he supposed that the purpose of this room was not to look pretty. The doctor was not in yet, so he sat in one of the chairs and pulled out his phone.

 

He was just reaching the 4096 tile on his game when the door opened. The man was young – maybe 24 – and dressed smartly. Glasses are perched on a high nose bridge and an official looking clipboard is gripped in his hand. The nametag clipped to the front of his jacket reads ‘Yoo’. Yongguk is expecting some old man that smells of money with a condescending attitude, but this man greets him with a bright smile and reaches across the table to shake his hand firmly.

“Mr. Bang?” The doctor asks. His voice is self-assured and confident, but in a way that helps him relax and not want to punch him in the face. He replies yes, he is, and they settle down facing each other. Dr. Yoo, who introduces himself as Youngjae, tells him that he is here to rule out any sort of physical problems before he begins to diagnose him with a mental one. They run through a list of questions: how much sleep do you have, are you stressed, do you have family around, do you feel happy, what is your income, how sexually active are you. They are all questions that Yongguk has already filled in at the front desk but he answers them calmly anyway, counting the hours of sleep he has had in the past week, trying to decide what exactly a ‘friend’ was.

The last question that Youngjae asked was if he had a significant other.

Perhaps the pause in between the ‘no’ or the way he shifted in his seat set off some sort of signals for the doctor, because the clipboard was put aside and Yongguk found himself staring back at the curious doctor.

“Tell me about it,” Youngjae said, and Yongguk could only sigh. It was a mistake that he would rather not remember, a time when he was younger and foolish and cruel. As he was prompted, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Maybe it would feel good to get it off of his chest.

“I should have just let him go…”

 

 

. . .

 

 

_“Yongguk, he’s my friend! You can’t stop me from seeing him!” Daehyun screamed, nose to nose with the taller male. The younger was half dressed in a graphic t-shirt and skinny jeans, ripped at the knees and thighs._

_The only thing stopping him from shrugging on his leather jacket was the rough grip around his wrist as Yongguk pinned him against a wall._

_“I can! You want to go to this party, dressed like a stripper?” Fury fueled Yongguk’s movements as he ripped the carefully wrapped present from his boyfriend’s hands, throwing it across the room. Something inside of it broke, but he was too busy subduing the suddenly violent flailing as Daehyun kicked at his shins and hit his shoulders._

_Why couldn’t Daehyun just accept it? Yongguk didn’t want him going out where he wouldn’t be there and other men and woman would be looking at him. How was he supposed to protect his boyfriend if he insisted on going out alone? He had seen the way that Daehyun’s supposed ‘friend’ had looked at him. The younger was just too naïve to see it, brushing it off as harmless teasing. Yongguk knew better._

_“Let me go! Yongguk! You’re hurting me!” The hits on his arms were getting weaker as Daehyun ran out of energy, backed into the wall. They both knew that Yongguk would always be the stronger one between them. “Why are you being like this? You’re acting crazy!”_

_“You ungrateful bitch.” Raising a hand, he slapped Daehyun across the face. The following silence was too loud. Wide eyes stared up at him as Daehyun cupped the reddened cheek in his free hand, tears spilling down his cheeks. Yongguk had never laid a hand on the younger out of anger. He had made a promise never to hurt him._

_Daehyun was crying now, choked sobbing wracking his frame. Letting go of the tiny wrist, he watched as his boyfriend slid down the wall, cowering away from him. It wasn’t his fault. Daehyun should have known better than to push him like that. He was only doing it to protect him._

_“Go to your party then, you dirty slut. But you had better be back by one.” Yongguk didn’t look, but he heard the other scrambling to his feet, collecting his coat and the ruined present before he slammed the door shut, taking the stifled sobbing and Yongguk’s anger along with him._

_At two in the morning, Yongguk was still up waiting for his boyfriend. He had made him hot chocolate because he knew that Daehyun liked drinking something warm before he went to sleep, and he had even washed the dishes so that Daehyun didn’t have to. He felt terrible about what he had done – it was momentary anger, and he was beyond ashamed of his actions. Yongguk would make it up to him. He would be the best boyfriend anyone could ask for._

_Daehyun didn’t come back._

 

 

_. . ._

 

 

Youngjae only asks one more question.

“Did you ever see him again?”

“No. I searched but none of his friends wanted to talk to me. I think he went back to Busan. I shouldn’t…I should have been a better boyfriend. A better person. I miss him so much. I want to make it up to him.” Yongguk buries his face into his hands, breathing out heavily. Youngjae doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, but the scratching of pen against paper tells him that the doctor is making some sort of assessment.

“Our hour is up. I won’t be able to diagnose you until I’ve read through everything. I’ll set up a meeting for next week as well – same time, same day. In the meantime, I suggest you try and get your thoughts out. Perhaps write a song? You are a composer, correct?” Youngjae crosses his legs at his knees and glances up, placing the paper and pen to the side. He looks generally concerned about his wellbeing and Yongguk would feel touched, if it was not for the hefty sum that would be going into this doctor’s pay from their one hour session. But the doctor is right; he finally knows what his song is going to be about.

He leaves at 8:05. The party starts at 8:30, giving him enough time to pick up a case of beer and then go. Yongguk doesn’t intend to drink a lot – he still has to finish his song – but he can’t show up without any sort of gift and drinking a little will hopefully get his creative juices running.

The liquor store is bustling. A Friday night meant parties, and parties meant drinks. He grabs a case of whatever and pays, throwing them into the shotgun seat. Unbuttoning the first two clasps of his shirt, Yongguk revs the engine, turns up the music until the seats are shaking, and joins the other million cars zooming through Seoul.

 

 

▼

 

 

The sound of piano fills the small room as Daehyun’s fingers flew from key to key, tapping out a simple melody. It was an absentminded movement; he played the same bars of music again and again, absorbed in his thoughts. This was the song that he had played for Yongguk, the first day that they had met. He had been twenty, playing at a local café for a little bit of money and whatever tips he got. The owner had heard him singing on the streets one day and offered him a job every afternoon when the rush came. Daehyun would sit in front of the piano, playing whatever came to mind, taking requests and singing.

Yongguk had been twenty two at the time. He had been on a break, sitting on the edge of the stage and sipping a mug of chai tea, chatting up a few girls who had come to talk to him. At first, he had not noticed the well-dressed man who ordered a cup of coffee and a sandwich. It was only when he had come up, scaring off the girls, and requested for the song Proposal by Noel. Daehyun had been entranced. Dressed in simple jeans and a baggy hoodie, thick rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, he couldn’t compare to the other. Dark wash denim, studded belt, a white button down and a leather jacket presented a bad boy image; the kind of guy that meant trouble. And Daehyun, having just moved out of his parent’s house and experiencing freedom, decided that he liked trouble.

He had sat on the piano bench, soothing music accompanying his voice. Daehyun had sung better than he had in a long time, hitting all the high notes and adding just enough strength behind the sweet words. It felt like a compulsion. He needed to see the man smile.

Once the café had closed, he had stepped outside to see that the stranger was waiting for him. That smile, lazy and coy, had immediately trapped him. And his voice…

 

 

. . .

 

 

_“I’m Yongguk. Your voice is quite…amazing.” Daehyun wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but that husky tone and deep bass sent shivers down his spine. He wondered what it would sound like growling out his name._

_“Daehyun. Thank you. I like your voice too.” His mouth ran without thought and he covered it in embarrassment, hearing a low chuckle follow his statement. Yongguk stepped forward, offering his hand, and Daehyun took it._

_Yongguk ended up walking him home because it was late and there had been a recent string of small robberies around where the café was. They had talked and hadn’t let go of their intertwined hands. Daehyun found out that Yongguk was twenty two and studying to be a composer. He told the elder that he was saving up money to go to an art academy. Being a singer was his dream and he would work on his hands and knees to get there if he needed to._

_When they had reached Daehyun’s apartment, dark and dingy, Yongguk had produced a pen from somewhere and proceeded to write his name and number on the inside of his wrist. There was a moment of hesitation – would Yongguk kiss him? – but they had simply parted ways with that. He spent the night texting the other, laughing as quietly as possible as Yongguk regaled him with the many songs that he would write in Daehyun’s name and how, when he stood on stage, he would be the biggest fan anyone could wish for._

_The next day, Yongguk was also there and they shared their first kiss in the back rooms of the café, lips tasting of coffee and sweets._

 

 

_. . ._

 

 

Those had been the happy days. Back when Yongguk was sweet and their romance blossomed with every night that Daehyun sat at the piano and played. They hung out during the day, spent the evenings at the café and then went back to Daehyun’s apartment for the night, where the other slept on the couch. He loved watching Yongguk bent over his latest piece of work, eyebrows furrowed and pen clutched tightly between his fingers. Sometimes, he asked Daehyun to sing part of the song because Yongguk’s voice was too low for that. The shy Daehyun had slowly melted away, and on the third week of their relationship, he invited the elder into his bed.

On their 100th day anniversary, Yongguk presented Daehyun with a song that he had written. It was the sweetest thing that he had ever gotten, and he had cried quietly while Yongguk rapped it for him. They had kissed and Daehyun spilled out his heart to the elder. That night was the first time someone had told him that they loved him.

It was a year later that the first signs had begun to show. Yongguk didn’t like it when other males approached him while he was singing, or when girls tried flirting with him. He didn’t like Daehyun walking around outside at night, and he especially disliked Daehyun having sleepovers with some of his friends. He brushed it off as sweet; of course his boyfriend wouldn’t want him talking to others. It was jealousy.

A few months later and the jealousy had progressed to possessiveness. Daehyun was not allowed to go out with friends that Yongguk didn’t approve of, he rarely sang at the café anymore because the elder had gotten into a fight with a man who he had claimed ‘was looking at him funny’, and most of his social interactions had dropped to a minimum. It was difficult to talk to Yongguk about it because his boyfriend didn’t like hearing it, and Daehyun dropped it most of the time so they wouldn’t fight anymore.

It wasn’t until the one night where Yongguk had attempted to stop him from going to his friend’s birthday party that things had really fallen apart. They had fought, just as usual, and then Yongguk had hit him across the face. For all the promises and bullshit that the other had spouted about how he would never harm him, he had slapped him across the face. That was the final straw. Daehyun loved Yongguk, he really did, but he couldn’t put up with it anymore. So he had left. When he showed up at the party with swollen eyes, bruises around his wrist and a split lip, his friends had immediately arranged for him to move back to Busan. They had a mutual friend there who would tide him over until he settled back down. Some of his friends had gone back to his apartment and cleared everything out. He slept over at the birthday boy’s house, and by five in the morning the next day, Daehyun had disappeared from Seoul.

For an entire year he was free of Yongguk. The man who let him stay at his house was kind, sweet, understanding. He learned not to touch Daehyun and there were no rules as to who he could hang out with. Once he learned that Daehyun loved the piano, he had bought a second hand one and placed it in their living room. Although he was by no means as mature as what Yongguk had been, he knew how to have fun and how to indulge him in his childish behavior. They spent the first week sleeping in a blanket fort because Daehyun was too scared to sleep by himself and he was wary of climbing into bed with his new roommate. Truthfully, he was lucky to have found him. They had fallen in love. So when his new boyfriend needed to move back to Seoul, Daehyun had gladly accompanied him, although they decided to live in separate apartments to accommodate work and school. It had been a year – Yongguk probably had a new partner – there was no chance that they would meet again. That had just been a bad chapter in his life.

The opening and closing of the front door pulled him away from his reflections. Before he could turn around, strong arms wrapped around him and Daehyun turned to see a mess of blonde hair and a wide grin. Yes, Zico was definitely different than Yongguk was.

“Dae, wanna go to a party tonight? My friend is hosting it.” The words have a tinge of a whine, and Daehyun already knows that no matter what he says, they will end up going anyway. So he shrugs, turning around and twining his arms around the other’s neck so he can pull him down for a greeting kiss.

“Yeah, sure. We don’t have to stay late though, do we?” He asks, laughing quietly as Zico runs his hands under his shirt and tickles the sensitive skin of his stomach. Daehyun has finally gotten into that art academy that he’s been wanting all his life, thanks to a bit of financial help from his boyfriend. Tomorrow would be his first day, and to say he was nervous would be an understatement.

They agree to say until midnight at the latest, and Zico was only allowed to have two drinks. Daehyun’s night vision was spotty at best.

Zico goes to change out of his work clothing and he starts dinner. It’s simple meat and rice and kimchi, but that was the way that they both liked it. Fancy restaurants and expensive food suited neither of them. When Zico comes back down, he is dressed in sweats and a loose shirt. Daehyun scolds the elder when he reaches for a piece of meat, but allows him to steal a second before patting his butt and walking off to turn the news on.

“Hey, did you hear of the assault on the boy?” His boyfriend calls from the other room.

“No. What happened?”

“Dunno. He was just walking home from school and this guy tried to grab him and drag him into an ally. He managed to escape, but they haven’t caught the guy.” Daehyun peeks his head out of the kitchen to look at the TV, where they were showing a picture of the boy. There was something unsettling as he stared at the school taken shot, but he can’t place it. His attention is redirected when the other tries to grab another piece of meat.

“Stop eating it!”

“Ow!”

They finish dinner. Zico is still whining from where Daehyun had slapped him with the spatula.

When they go upstairs to dress for the party – Daehyun has already amassed a collection of his clothes at the apartment -  they throw clothing at each other and spend a good deal of time running around in their boxers, trying to force each other into ridiculous clothing they would never wear in public.

“Why do you even have this?” Daehyun laughs, holding up a hideous looking pair of pants that are neon with bright pink leopard spots. When Zico sees it, he tackles him onto the bed and wrestles them from his hands.

“Dark days, Dae. But I think you would look great in them-“ He flails as his boyfriend tries to shove the spandex fabric around his moving ankles and then shimmy them up his legs. It ends with Zico flat on top of him, trying to bat away Daehyun’s slapping hands and force the pants up his thighs.

“Stop! We need to actually get ready, otherwise we will be late.” Zico doesn’t respond because he’s nuzzling his nose against the flat of his stomach, eliciting squeals and laughter. Pushing against the elders head, the weight finally rolls off and they collect themselves long enough to look around at their bedroom. It looks like a hurricane has gone off. “We need to clean this up later. Help me find my ripped jeans!”

For all the fooling around they did, it only takes five minutes for them to dress. Daehyun wears torn denim and one of Zico’s baggy hoodies and his boyfriend dresses in baggy jeans and a graphic t-shirt. Daehyun thinks that at the age of twenty six, Zico would wear something a bit more age appropriate.

They leave shortly after in Zico’s sports car. It’s flashy and loud, but the insides are comfortable. (Daehyun likes it the best when they are fucking). His boyfriend holds the door open for him and he settles into the leather seat, safety belt over his chest and clicking into place. The other door opens and music floods the car. They slide carefully into traffic and join the many cars already inching forward.

It is a game between them to try and turn the other person on before they reach their destination. Daehyun enjoys tilting his head back and moaning, while Zico take the more direct approach of a hand on his thigh or his stomach or around his neck, squeezing lightly. He has given road head more than he has ever imagined that he would.

As always, Zico starts the challenge with a heavy hand on his knee. It stays there while they drive; the second the car stops, it slides upward. Daehyun places his hand over the other when long digits begin to massage his inner thigh, palm pressed against his crotch.

“Not here, Zico. We have to go to the party and I can’t ruin my pants.” He mumbles, failing to push the hand away from the front of his pants. The red light turns green and they drive like that; Zico maneuvering the car with one hand while the other remains pressed flat against his jeans. The urge to roll his hips up against it is strong, especially when they go over speed bumps and the elders hand tightens over the growing bulge. Luckily, their destination isn’t far and they arrive before Daehyun really has a problem.

“If anyone bothers you, tell me and I’ll deal with them. I forgot – I promised that I’ll help clean up after the party. Are you okay walking home? Or I can tell him that I can’t-“ Zico rambles on. Leaning forward, Daehyun presses his lips against the others and smiles softly. It wasn’t that far of a distance back to his own apartment – fifteen minutes at most.

“I’ll be fine, Zico. I’ll text you when I get back to my house, okay? Remember not to drink a lot.” His boyfriend returns the light kiss and then they get out of the car, hand in hand as they walk up to the doors.

 

 

▼

 

 

The party was in full swing when they pushed the doors open. It wasn’t too crazy by club standards, but Daehyun could already see that some people were halfway to intoxicated. Most of the people he didn’t know – the only reason he was here was because he was Zico’s plus one.

Guided upstairs, he was in an utter loss as of what to do. He couldn’t drink – not with the first day at academy tomorrow – and he didn’t know enough people to talk to. Zico was already off talking to a few of his friends, leaving him to stand like one of those awkward losers who had randomly wandered into a party of cool kids. As it is, many of the people around him are dressed in dark colours, chains, leather. His childishly big sweater and jeans do not meet the apparent wardrobe standards.

Two minutes of excruciatingly awkward standing later, Daehyun chooses to escape to one of the balconies conveniently located nearby. It is abandoned – the night is cold and the exit is partially hidden behind an open door. Wrapping his arms around himself for maximum warmth, he leans his arms against the railings and looks out. They are not high enough to get a great look out into the city, but he can see past the first few buildings. Despite the late time, many lights are still blazing and stores are open, leaving citizens to wander down the streets like it is broad daylight. Daehyun finds himself breathing out, watching his breath curl like smoke into the air and then disappear. Music filters from the building inside, and he would be faintly worried about the fact that the bass is shaking the porch if it was not for steel reinforces holding it steady.

Behind him, the door opened. Daehyun supposed that it was Zico, coming to look for him, and he turned with a smile on his face. But it wasn’t. It was Yongguk.

The elder looked just as surprised to see him. A single year had done work to Yongguk. The frown lines on his forehead looked deeper, the shadows under his eyes darker. He had a brooding look in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. If anything, his physical figure had become more imposing as well. Broader shoulders, taller, a confident stance as they stared at each other. Daehyun felt like throwing himself off of the balcony.

“Daehyun.” A hand extended in his direction and he flinched back, memories of that hand wrapped around his wrist and coming down on his cheek flashing in his mind. For a second, Yongguk’s hand dropped but then he stepped forward, trapping him between the curve of railings and a solid body.

 “Hi, Yongguk.” He whispered, feeling ridiculously small in front of the other. Before he could react, the hand grabbed his own in a gentle but firm hold.

“Daehyun,” The effort to shake the grip off of him is useless as the elder continues, “I’m sorry. For everything. I never got to apologize and I promise- I  _never_  meant to hurt you like that. I mean I was completely out of line for trying to stop you like that.” Yongguk stepped closer with every word until their bodies were pressed together, words whispered into his hair. It felt so familiar and Yongguk still wore the same cologne that he had when they were together, but it didn’t stop Daehyun from trembling. If the elder had flipped out about him going to his friend’s party, how would he take that he has a new boyfriend? A finger slipped under his jaw and tilted his head up, Yongguk’s lips coming closer. He pulled away, turning his head to the side so soft lips press against his cheek.

“I want you to stay away from me.” His words are shaky, barely whispered out in the air. Yongguk paused, his lips right next to Daehyun’s ear. He can almost feel the anger building up in the other and he is desperately trying to shimmy away, scooting towards the left. An arm extended blocks his path, and he turns to meet the dark eyes of his ex.

“What do you mean, Dae? I’m sorry. I really am. I’ve changed,” Yongguk looked so heartbroken and sad, his forehead creased and accentuating the wrinkles that came too early for a man his age, “I still love you. I want to try again. Please give me another chance.”

And the sad thing was, Yongguk had come too late. It was one mistake – a terrible one – but a single mistake. He had just come too late. Daehyun had moved on and he had found another love; life moved on without the elder, and he had thought that Yongguk would have moved on as well. All he could do was shake his head mutely, watch as the other’s jaw tightened, grip tightening on the railings beside him.

The raised hand he had been expecting never came because the door opened again and Zico was calling his name.

Yongguk stepped back and he tried to rearrange his expression into something more neutral. The taller male walked towards him, an arm slipping around his waist, a kiss pressed to the top of his head. It was all caught by the man who watched them blankly.

“Yongguk!” Zico was the first to talk, oblivious to the tension that hung in the air. Or maybe he did, but Daehyun’s boyfriend was always good at ignoring things like that. “Hey man, I haven’t seen you in a while. You finally decided to come out of whatever cave you’ve been living in?”

Yongguk answers, although his eyes never leave Daehyun, who is half hiding. “Yeah. I decided it was time to start socializing again. When did you get here? Last I heard, you were living in Busan.”

“A few months ago. I brought this beauty along with me. He stayed with me for a better part of the year, so it’s only fair that I get to drag him around Korea now.” Zico laughs, arms tightening affectionately around his waist. Daehyun can only manage a weak smile, choosing to bury his face into the taller male’s side to escape the hard stare of Yongguk. A hand carding through his hair has him looking up at his boyfriend, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “Are you okay, Dae? You look kinda…sick.”

“I’m fine.” Is the best he can offer, lips pulling up into a small smile when Zico pinches his cheek, even though he obviously isn’t. The matter drops because Yongguk has cleared his throat, shifting from foot to foot.

“How long have you two been together?” The deep voiced male asks. Daehyun silently begs him not to answer, but his boyfriend didn’t seem to be getting his mental signals.

“Ah- six months, maybe?” Actually, seven. Zico had confessed on November 17th. They had gone out to a concert and kissed at a fountain located just outside the venue. It was the first night that Daehyun felt like he might have had a chance moving on; away from his bad past, stifling relationship and scary boyfriend.

He had blindly believed in that for seven months, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

No one spoke for a minute. The awkwardness and tension seemed to be finally filtering in to Zico, because he shifted and looked back at the party. Yongguk was still staring at him, and he was still trying to avoid the intense gaze as best as he could by pressing his face into his boyfriend’s shirt.

Finally, Zico spoke.

“Uh…well, it’s getting kind of cold. Do you wanna go back inside, Dae?” With a fervent nod of his head, he was urged back inside to the warmth and the music. Daehyun unwrapped his arms from around his body, glancing back at the balcony. Yongguk was still standing there, back turned to them. He seemed to be surveying the view of Seoul, the way he had been a few minutes ago.

This time, when Zico was called over by a group of friends, Daehyun stuck close. He stood by the taller male’s side, enduring the good natured ribbing that he got for looking so ‘cute’ and ‘innocent’. After a few hints from Zico, he even took a sip of the elders drink to help loosen up; it didn’t do a lot, but his mind gradually drifted away from Yongguk and the sudden apology that he had been given. No, Daehyun was happy with Zico.

He wasn’t going back to that chapter in his life.

When the clock struck midnight, Daehyun took his leave. Zico attempted to slip away from the party – still in full swing – but was caught and dragged back by the host. It was okay, he reassured his worried boyfriend, his apartment was only a few minutes away and there were still people outside. He would be safe, he would text when he got home, he would lock his doors and windows and he wouldn’t talk to strangers. It was cute how much Zico worried over a fifteen minute walk.

Daehyun hit the streets with Zico’s jacket wrapped around his shoulders. The air is cold but tolerable; summer is coming soon, he could smell it in the air. Couples and random people wandered down the streets, either extremely intoxicated or heading back home from a late night date. He skirted around all of them, head down and bangs falling over his face. There was a strange feeling that he couldn’t shake. Like a storm was coming. Something heavy lay on his shoulders, constricting his chest in the worst possible way. When he looked around, nothing was out of the ordinary. It was just a street in Seoul, and he was just a man going home. He blamed it on the recent meeting with his ex.

By the time he reached his apartment steps, he was out of breath. His heart hammered, eyes flickering from side to side as he pulled his keys from his pocket. It took a good two tries for him to open the door.

The slam of the door covered the sound of a camera shutter as Yongguk watched him, taking down the apartment address.

This time, Daehyun wouldn’t get away.

 

 


	2. Anxiety

The sun rises and Yongguk awakens with it. The golden fingers stretch over the wooden floors, onto his bed, creeping over his eyes and pulling him to consciousness with a groan. The last night had been spent in restlessness; tossing and turning, stewing over his interactions with Daehyun, wishing harm upon Zico. Their meeting had been so far from his fantasy that his mind raced to catch up with current events and process what exactly had happened at the party. In Yongguk’s perfect world, he would have swept the younger into his arms and kissed him breathless, apologize for every single thing that he had done, taken Daehyun out to the tree where they always used to make out under, walked him home and held him through the night. They would reconcile because they were perfect for each other. His large house wouldn’t feel so lonely anymore because there would be the slap of running feet against the wood floors, the musty smell would be replaced with cooked food and the sweet scent of Daehyun that always intoxicated him, his songs would preach of his angel who meant more to him than the world. Everything would be exactly how it should be.

 

 

Except it wasn’t.

 

 

His beautiful tiger cub had run off and found a new master and started a new love story that didn’t include him in the pages of valiant characters. He should be there. He should be the one standing at Daehyun’s side and protecting him and loving him. Yongguk had spent a year envisioning them getting back together, and now that it had fallen through, he was left in a daze.

 

 

Swinging his feet over the side of his bed, Yongguk stretches his stiff arms and cracks his back, shaking the remaining sleep from his limbs. For some reason, his fingers feel sticky and dry and his clothing is uncomfortable against his skin. His usual sleeping attire consists of boxers and little else, but it seems that he had fallen asleep in what he had worn to the party.

 

 

It takes a single glance down for his jaw to drop and eyes to widen, surprise and shock startling whatever sleepiness he had from him. Blood clings to his fingernails and his palms, coating his pale skin to a rusty red that dots his hands and part way up his forearms. His knuckles have broken open, a layer of skin stripped to reveal clotted blood and scraped flesh that hurt at the touch. In addition, his shirt hung loosely from his frame, torn at places and spotted in red too.

 

 

“Shit, shit, shit.”

 

 

Staring down at himself, Yongguk racks his mind for what could have caused such damage. It was not like he had many drinks the night before, his memories of the events were clear. He had watched Daehyun walk home and then headed home. Had he made any extra stops? Was he involved in a fight? He couldn’t remember. Another blackout, it seemed, but this one didn’t seem so innocent. Groaning into his hands, he stands up and heads to the bathroom.

 

 

The shower runs hot and heavy over his back as he scrubs the red from his skin, ignoring the sting of pain as the rivulets of water stream over the open wounds on his knuckles. He washes his hair and uses a liberal amount of soap to wash himself clean, allowing his mind to shut off for a few minutes. When he steps out, steam clogging the bathroom, he decides that he must have gotten into a fight with another male, or he had taken his frustrations out on a concrete wall. Yes. There was a logical explanation for everything. There was no need to concern himself over something that didn’t matter.

 

 

To be safe, he phones the psychiatrist’s office and makes another appointment for as soon as possible. The receptionist tells him that the doctor has lunch at twelve, but he would be happy to talk to him during that time. There is still three hours before the meeting, so he dresses in sweats and heads to the kitchen in order to make himself a simple breakfast.

 

 

Returning to the living room with his plate of food and a glass of water clutched in his hands, he settles down on the sofa and turns on the TV. They talk of the weather, which foretells of sun and blue skies; the traffic, backed up due to a crash; and the economy, sinking despite attempts to revive it. Yongguk is just about to turn off the screen, but the anchor woman comes on and she looks serious.

 

 

“ _Another attack on a young boy today….found almost beaten to death…in hospital…expected to live…no suspects…same as last attack?...police investigating…any tips are appreciated…”_

They show a picture of the boy; another school taken portrait. The kid was around eighteen or nineteen, looking seriously at the camera, head tilted to the side to show off a slightly larger than average nose and plush lips. There was something about him that struck Yongguk, but he couldn’t place it at the moment. The news switches to some invasive species and he turns off the TV, slowly picking at the rest of his food. _Beaten to death…_ he looks at his knuckles, but shakes the thought from his head after a few seconds. He is not extremely violent. If anything, he is a pacifist. The only time he had ever harmed someone on purpose was Daehyun, and he regretted that deep in his soul. Plus, he has no sort of connection with the boy who had been assaulted, and the place of the attack was far from his route home. No, it was just a coincidence. A strange coincidence, but that was all that it was.

 

 

However, he feels uneasy cooped up in his house and he decides to head out early; walk around town for a bit, clear his mind, perhaps get a cup of coffee to soothe his nerves. He changes into jeans and a hoodie, shoving his cellphone, keys and wallet into his pockets before heading out.

 

 

The drive into the heart of Seoul is as painfully slow and tortuously clogged as he has begun to expect, and he plays music loud enough that the car shakes and people who stop beside him glance over to see where the noise is coming from. Despite the many disapproving stares from parents and the elderly, the volume of his music does not change and he drives just slightly over the speed limit, taking the HOV lane despite the fact he is alone. Right hand on the steering wheel, windows down, shades on. There is something wrong with the universe and he feels the need to challenge everything; show the world that he isn’t a victim to the game of life. He controls his own destiny, and he wants to push boundaries at the moment.

 

 

With his reckless driving, he arrives a full ten minutes ahead of what he expected and finding parking is a surprising breeze after revving his engine at a poor girl who is attempting to edge into a prime parking spot. She pulls away and Yongguk slides in, shutting off his music and pulling the keys from his car.

He steps out onto the pavement at exactly 11:03, giving him fifty seven minutes to waste before he is expected in Dr. Yoo’s office. The first order of business is a coffee, extra-large with three extra shots of caffeine. It’s too bitter for his tastes but he sips it anyway, refusing to pull a face as his tongue shrivels up in his mouth. He wanders the streets, sticking to the inside of the sidewalk and meandering past stores, admiring displayed items and generally staying out of other people’s way. Finally, he elects to sit at a café that offers outside seats, settling down to watch the passing citizens of Seoul. Many of them have their heads down, staring at their handheld devices, or they simply powered through the crowds with a single minded determination. They proceeded like ants. Yongguk found it amusing and strange at the same time.

 

 

His phone beeps ten minutes before his appointment and he discards his cardboard cup, joining the streams of people.

 

 

He arrives with three minutes to spare and is ushered into the same room that he had previously met with Dr. Yoo. It is just as bare and empty as what he remembers, but he settles into a chair and waits. The man arrives at 12:01, dressed in jeans and a neatly pressed light blue button up shirt. His glasses perch on his nose and he is carrying the same clipboard that he had the first day of their meeting. They shake hands. Youngjae asks if he can eat while they talk, because after all, it is his lunch break. Yongguk says yes and the doctor proceeds to unwrap a sandwich, obviously bought from a store but of gourmet quality. He waits until the younger man has taken a bite from his lunch before sighing, signalling the start of their discussion.

 

 

“So, Mr. Bang, what is up?” The tone is deceptively casual and he feels that Dr. Yoo is attempting to connect with him on a more intimate level than that of doctor and patient. “Your next appointment wasn’t supposed to be until a week. Has something happened?”

 

And Yongguk isn’t a very open person, but the pent up emotions in his body are clamoring to be released and Youngjae has a confidentiality agreement, so he is probably the best option of his very limited selection. He sighs again and leans back into the sofa, hands clasped together as he sorts through his thoughts.

 

 

“You remember how I told you about me and my ex yesterday?” He starts, receiving a silent nod in response. “I met him last night at a party. He looked…he looked exactly like he did before. I was so happy to see him. I apologized….I thought that he would be happy to see me. I had this vision in my head of how it was all supposed to play out.” Youngjae is silent, not writing notes, simply listening. Yongguk continues talking. “He has a new boyfriend. One of my old friends. I don’t think…God. I don’t know. I was so angry. They ended up leaving and I went home,” he left out the stalking part, “and then when I woke up, I had these.” Baring his knuckles, he shows them to the doctor, who stares for a few seconds and then looks away.

 

 

“Are you aware of the attack that happened last night?” Dr. Yoo asks delicately, and he nods.

“But I…I didn’t do it. I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know the kid. It isn’t like I had any reason to hurt him.” Yongguk shoves his hands into his pockets again, flicking his hair to the right as he immediately defends himself despite the fact that Youngjae has not accused him of anything. There is a pause as they both thought, and finally the doctor reached for his clipboard again.

 

 

“How did you feel about learning that Daehyun had a new boyfriend?” Youngjae asked in the calm way of his, pen poised over the paper.

 

 

“I…I was surprised. When I first met him, he told me that he had very few relationships, so I couldn’t really see him with anyone else except me.” He confessed, hands twisting on his lap. “I felt betrayed. I waited for him, and he moved on only a few months after he left me…” His fingers curl into fists at the memory, seeing Daehyun hide his face in his new boyfriend’s shirt. Like he was scared. Like Yongguk would have hurt him.

 

 

“And what do you feel about the other man that Daehyun is dating? Are you angry at him?” Youngjae asks next, sitting patiently as he struggles to sort out his thoughts.

 

 

“Zico…we are friends. Not close friends, but we used to rap together. I don’t think he knew about me and Daehyun, so I can’t really blame him…” And yet, for some reason, he harboured a malicious hatred for Zico, who had stolen his love away from him. It wasn’t fair that Zico got Daehyun. It wasn’t fair that it was just one mistake. It wasn’t fair that Daehyun moved on when he hadn’t.

 

 

“You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Bang. Are you angry with Zico?” A flash of irritation sweeps through him as he is asked again. How was he supposed to know? He didn’t have the right to be angry, but he was. What was rightfully his had been whisked from under his feet.

 

 

“Yes.” He finally unwillingly replies, hands tightening. Youngjae didn’t say anything but wrote for a few minutes, brow furrowed in concentration. “What are you writing?” He asks, brooding over what terrible things the doctor could be saying about him. Dr. Yoo looks up in surprise but shrugs, subtly moving his hand to block the neat blocks of writing from his view.

 

 

“In order to diagnose you, I need to know as much about you, and you need to be truthful. You’re doing a very good job, Mr. Bang.” The reply is calm and clear, but Yongguk notices that the doctor had not answered his question and instead evaded it.

 

 

“That wasn’t what I asked. What are you writing?” He asks again, hands tightening on his lap. The young psychiatrist looks up, meets his eyes, and then looks down again.

 

 

“Do you think Daehyun would be better off with you?”

 

 

The topic is changed without any sort of subtlety. Gritting his teeth, he debates not answering but instead forces his hands to unclench, taking a deep breath before answering.

 

 

“No. I know him. I know what he likes and what he doesn’t. Zico may be a nice change, but he isn’t what Daehyun needs.” The angelic boy needed someone to guide him and show him the right way. He needed someone who would kill all the spiders and brave a storm to get to his apartment because Daehyun was scared of thunder. He needed someone who could tuck him into bed at night and wake him up with breakfast in the morning. Zico couldn’t do that. He could. _He_ was the prince charming that Daehyun needed.

 

 

“What if Daehyun is happy with Zico? After all, he left you once.” The mild comment has him seeing red and suddenly he is on his feet, towering over the other.

 

 

“It was _one_ mistake. I would never hurt him again. I’ve already learned from that. Daehyun belongs with _me._ ” His voice comes out low and harsh, threatening and insulted. How could the doctor even try to suggest that Daehyun wasn’t right for him? They were perfect for each other, the way that their hands interlocked and the younger fit in his arms. They were made for each other. There was no other way.

Youngjae has stood up as well, hands raised in surrender as he gestures for him to sit.

“It was just me thinking out loud. I apologize.” He says, and Yongguk glares for a few more seconds before he lowers himself back into the chair, fists clenched.

 

 

“Why do you keep on asking questions about Daehyun and Zico?” Yongguk finally asks, after taking a few calming breaths to slow his heart rate and ease his clenched jaw into relaxation again. The man across from him seems to hesitate, eyes flickering to the clock located on the wall beside them. It appears that Youngjae is debating whether to answer or not, but he eventually licks his lips and responds.

 

 

“Some people can grow…overly attached to their past relationships. It is obvious that Daehyun has moved on, so perhaps you should as well-“ The tentative reply is cut off as glass hits the wall behind him, shattering into hundreds of pieces. Yongguk lowers his right arm, staring at the vase that he has just thrown. The flowers lay scattered in a pool of water, surrounded by shards and the larger pieces of coloured glass.

 

 

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice sounds different and his vision flickers, blood rushing through his head. Youngjae looks shocked, glancing at the broken vase and then back to him.

 

 

“Mr. Bang, please calm down-“

 

 

“Calm down? You’re saying that I should give up on Daehyun. You expect me to just give up on him? He is my life.” Taking a threatening step forward, his vision jumps black and red again. How was he supposed to ‘calm down’ when Youngjae had just said that he should move on? How could he suggest that Daehyun was happy with his new boyfriend? It was unthinkable. It was Yongguk and Daehyun against the world. “I wouldn’t expect you to fucking understand. This is wasting my time.” And with that he turns on his heel, striding towards the door.

 

 

“Wait! Mr. Bang- Please, let’s sit down and talk this through-“ Yongguk’s sight blacks out and when he turns around, he is completely calm.

 

 

“I think our sessions are done. Thank you for your time.” He says, smiling wide and polite.  

The door bangs shut behind him and he exits the building without a backward glance.

From there, he heads to a local florist shop. There is one nearby that always had beautiful flowers on display; large, blooming buds of all different colours and shades and sizes. Throwing the door open with his left hand, Yongguk steps into the cool and sunlit store. It takes a few minutes of wandering around before his eyes fall on a basket of dark red roses, and he knows that that is what he wants. He stops the pretty staff member, who smiles at him sweetly.

 

 

“How many do you want, Sir?” She asks. He decides on eight because that has always been Daehyun’s favourite number. Walking back towards the counter, he pulls out his wallet, ignoring the fluttering eyelashes and flirty smiles directed at him. A rack of cards catches his attention and he walks over, peering at the beautifully detailed offerings. There is one that holds his eye; gold bordering on pure white paper, containing two halves of a heart stitched together with the words _love_. Daehyun has always been into that kind of cheesy shit. Picking it up, he places it onto the counter as well.

 

 

“Is that all, Sir?” She asks. Her name tag says _Eunhee_. “Is it for a girlfriend?”

 

 

“Yes. And no. I’m trying to get someone back.” He replies, placing his card down with his left hand and gathering the flowers and card with his right.

 

 

“Oh! Good luck then! I hope you get her back!” Yongguk grins at her, waving goodbye before leaving the store. The flowers and card is carefully placed in the passenger seat of his car as he buckles in, shutting the radio off and closing the windows. He pulls off, lazy smirk fixed to his lips.

 

 

The ride takes a shorter amount of time than it did getting there and he is thankful for that, because he has a mission now. Pulling into the driveway, he scoops up his stuff and carries them to his office, choosing his favourite black pen. Reclining in his chair, Yongguk stares out his window for a few seconds before putting pen to paper.

 

 

He was going to get Daehyun back, one way or another.  

 

 

▼

 

 

His first day of art school both exceeds and disappoints his imagination. The facilities are stunning; all new and state of the art equipment that make his voice – in his opinion – sound better than it did in real life. The campus is large, but not sprawling out to the point where he is unable to navigate. His voice holds up better than he expects, given that he hasn’t sung while being judged in a while, and he has been put into the advanced class that he wanted. However, he has also found it hard to fit in among the other students. Many are friends or trainee groups who have chosen to attend the academy, and he stands out with his noticeable accent and the fact that Zico had driven him to school on his loud, flashy motorcycle. He has expected to make a friend or two, but returned back home without an exciting conversation with anyone. They were nice, yes, but there wasn’t a _click_ like how he had felt in his high school years. Perhaps because he has been out of the music scene for so long, but he leaves the campus feeling let down.

 

 

He busses home because Zico is working, but he doesn’t mind much. A little girl sits next to him and they spend the time playing patty cake while her mother looked on. She gets off first and Daehyun spends the rest of the time looking out the window, thinking of ways that he can make new friends in the following days. His stop rolls closer and he pushes the button, standing up and gathering his things. Saying thanks to the driver, he gets off and treks up seven flights of stairs since the elevator seems to be broken. Each step sets him back deeper into his foul mood, and he is positively steaming by the time he reaches his apartment; huffing and puffing, cursing every God on earth and promising to serve punishment to the handyman who could not fix the elevator.

 

 

But there are flowers on his doorstep.

 

 

It brings a smile, albeit tired, to his lips as he scoops up the flowers – eight, his favourite number – and holds them to his nose. The fragrance is just what he needs to relax and he grins as he plucks the pretty card from its bed of red petals.

 

 

_Dear Daehyunnie,_

_I hope you enjoyed your first day of art school. I’m sure you blew everyone away. I’ll see you soon._

_Eternal love._

 

It was short and sweet and entirely out of character for Zico – most of the letters that he received were in the form of post-it notes stuck to the fridge or his bag, decorated with childish drawings and a lot of teasing. Not that he minds, but he likes how encouraging it was. Folding the card back up, he carries the flowers into his apartment. They are placed into a glass vase, filled with water and some of that special powder that promises to keep it alive and fresh looking for longer.

 

 

There is still four hours before Zico returns home and so he settles onto the couch, curling his feet to his chest and reaching for the remote. The channels flicker before coming to rest of the news and Daehyun pulls the worn blanket that they keep nearby to his chest. There has been another attack – a young boy, almost beaten to death when he was walking home. The location and time sent shivers down Daehyun’s back, followed with the involuntary clench of his fingers in the soft material of his blanket.  The attack was placed between 10-11pm, which was the time frame of him walking home. It could have been him. The suspect seemed to target young boys who walked alone at night. The picture of the victim, a school taken shot, flashed across the screen. There is something very familiar with him; perhaps he has seen the kid on the streets or had talked to him one day or something of the like. His phone buzzes beside him and he jumps, scared for a second before reaching for it.

 

 

It is a text from one of his high school friends, who he kept in contact with.

 

 

[text from: Chaejin] you seeing the news rn?

[text from: Chaejin] kid looks like you

 

 

He grabs the remote, freezing the screen before it changes. Another shudder runs down his spine as he stares, recognizing the similarity in some of their features. The slight oversized nose and the curve of their jaw. Once he googles the previous boy, he spots the slant of his eyes and the fullness of his lips.

There is someone who is targeting boys who look like him, and he thinks he knows who it is.

 

 

▼

 

 

The sound of the front door alerts him of another person’s presence. It is only three hours later, and he supposes that Zico has snuck out from work an hour early in order to meet him. From where he is curled up in bed, lazily flipping through a magazine and sipping on hot chocolate, he leaps out and runs to the front door to greet his boyfriend.

 

 

It is not Zico.

 

 

It is Yongguk, who stands guiltily in his hallway with a ring of lock picks that he must have used to open his door. For a few seconds, Daehyun is stunned. Should he run? Should he phone the police? How did Yongguk even know where he lived? He had not moved into his old apartment, instead choosing one closer to a local park and Zico’s abode.

 

 

“Yongguk.” He greets, and is surprised to find that his voice doesn’t waver. “What are you doing here?”

His question is ignored as the elder’s eyes rove around his apartment, taking in the TV playing quietly in the background, his backpack and contents strewn over a chair, the mug he is still holding onto, the flowers and card displayed proudly on his table.

 

 

“Daehyun.” Yongguk’s voice is low and husky, but it sounds vaguely pleased. “I see you received the flowers and card I left for you. How was your first day of art school? I know you’ve wanted to do it for so long.”

 

 

His blood runs cold. Of course. It couldn’t have been Zico – the writing and present had been too formal and sophisticated to be his childish boyfriend. He had deluded himself into believing his own lie. The taller male takes a step forward and he counters with one back, eyes flickering from the male to the door to the clock, silently begging Zico to walk through the door and save him. But the door did not open again, and he was quickly running out of room in which to retreat to.

 

 

“W-what are you doing here, Yongguk? You can’t just unlock my door.” He licks his lips nervously, heart rate accelerating as seconds passed and the silence dragged on. Yongguk steps forward again, and again, and again until he was pressed against a wall and the other stood in front of him to block his path. Hands extended towards his own and Daehyun allows those long, slender fingers to intertwine with his own. Yongguk presses kisses to his knuckles, each setting fire to his skin and causing his breath to hitch loudly.

 

 

“I needed to speak to you,” The man says softly, flipping his hand over and kissing his palm, “since we didn’t get to fully speak at the party.” And Daehyun allows himself to be pulled closer, lost in the trance of fear and daze and thin digits sliding through his hair and massaging just behind his ear in the way he loved. “I miss you, Daehyun. I miss you so much. I was so wrong for hurting you like that. You were – are – the best thing in my life. When you left, all I thought about was you.” Lips press into his hair and Daehyun’s eyes slide shut, inhaling the familiar spicy cologne that always makes him feel happy. They pause – the position held on a wire thin breath – and familiarize themselves on each other’s bodies again. “I missed you.” It is breathed against his scalp and into his ear again and again, drawing shudders from his body. “I missed you…I missed you…I missed you…” Fingers slide under his chin and tilt his head back, gently forcing him to meet the vulnerable eyes of Yongguk.

 

 

“I forgive you.” The words are out of his mouth before he thinks them over. Yongguk smiles like the sun; all gummy and relieved and happy and Daehyun grins back because how can he not? The hand in his hair strokes gently, carding through his locks with gentleness that Zico can’t get just right, thumb running circles mindlessly as they reconcile. Two fingers slide under his chin and tilt his head back, levelling their eyes and lips together. There is a pause – breath held – before Yongguk moved forward, already angling his head to the left.

 

 

And Daehyun pulls back.

 

 

“But that doesn’t mean that I want to get back with you. I have Zico now, Yongguk. And he makes me happy. It’s different from you, but he took care of me and he loves me. I won’t leave him just because I’ve forgiven you.”

 

 

The air seems to freeze as the look in Yongguk’s eyes steel from the happy warmth of forgiveness to hard disbelief. The hand in his hair pauses, as if waiting for him to reconsider and revoke his response, and when he does not it drops.

 

 

“Daehyun, I love you.” The words are desperate and pleading and so broken that Daehyun feels terrible. He had loved Yongguk, once upon a time, and they fit together in a way that wasn’t perfect or spectacular but felt just right to him. That time had passed, however, and he loved Zico too.

“I think you should leave now.” He says quietly, reaching up to gently pull the hand from under his chin. It falls to the elders side, limp. Zico would be home soon and his boyfriend would expect dinner and a full account of his busy day.

 

 

“No.” Their eyes meet and Daehyun feels something stir in his head – a dark, cloying sort of fear – when he looks at Yongguk and there isn’t any trace of the man he knew. What he didn’t expect was a hand to come swinging out, catching him at the side of the head and knocking him to the ground, nor heavy weight drop on top of him as Yongguk got on top and straddle him. Hands paw at his stomach, his chest, his face and grasp through his hair, forcing him to face the sadistic grin marring the elders lips.

“Yongguk, get off!” He cries, pushing and kicking. Daehyun manages to wrestle one hand from where it is bunched into his shirt, but it simply cuffs him again before returning to its spot. “This isn’t funny, Yongguk. Get off.” His attempt at being authoritative goes straight over the others head, who is peering down at him with a predatory tinge to that gummy smile. Fingers brush over the sensitive nubs on his chest and he struggles, pulling and hitting until his hands are caught and trapped to his sides by strong knees. The abusive hand curls against his ribcage, scratching gently, tracing over his collarbones and grasping his jaw between slim fingers before wrapping around his throat.

 

 

Yongguk squeezes.

 

 

Daehyun can’t breathe. The lighting above is blocked by the elders head and it casts a ghoulish shadow on his features, turning the handsomely rugged visage into a demons grin. He scratches long, red marks down exposed arms and kicks his legs, hammering his knees against broad back but nothing shakes Yongguk. The grip tightens and it goes from uncomfortable pressure to impossible to breathe. And _ohgodohgodohgod_ he is going to die and Zico will find his body and no one would know it was Yongguk and his vision is flickering and his lips are open but nothing is coming in or out and-

 

 

Yongguk lets go.

 

 

He rolls onto his side, gasping for breath and ignoring the painful way air whistles down his throat and that the other is getting up and his fingers are scrabbling against the carpet. There is movement above him and the most he can do is crawl backwards, away from Yongguk who is staring down at him with an unreadable expression.

 

 

“Yongguk-“ He rasps, an arm raising in a feeble attempt to protect himself from any further attacks.

 

 

“This isn’t Yongguk.” And despite the fact it looks like Yongguk, sounds like Yongguk, _feels_ like Yongguk, it is not. This is someone who had taken over Yongguk’s body. This was a demon.

 

 

“Who are you?” Daehyun asks, fearing the answer but asking all the same. He must know. He must find Yongguk within the confines of his own body and bring him out. For a few seconds, the not-Yongguk does not answer and then he laughs, brushing back his hair with his left hand.

 

 

“I will get you back, Daehyun. Do not forget that you belong to _me._ ” A foot raises and he cringes back, covering his face and head.

 

 

He is still cowering as he hears the front door open and close.

 

 

And then he was alone.

 


	3. Obsession

Daehyun believed that love is a gift. For two people to love each other, to truly care for each other and stand together against the world was an amazing thing. To love and to be loved made live beautiful. He also believed that sometimes love can go wrong. Like all things, too much or too little can lead to consequences; he has seen it before. A cheating partner, a romance gone dead, a fling that burned too bright and burned too fast. They, of course, were rare occurrences and although he had faced some difficult challenges in his life (such as telling his girlfriend that he wasn’t exactly attracted to her) he had never, in his entire life, expected to find himself facing the brunt of love gone wrong.

Another bouquet of flowers hit the garbage can bottom with a thud, joining the other two already discarded. Eight bunches of violets. He distinctly remembered the same ones when Yongguk had taken him on their fourth date to fields and fields of violets, all waving in the wind. That had been the first time he had let the elder push his shirt up over his head, if he recalled correctly.

Three bouquets to signify three days. Three days since Zico had come into his apartment to find him crying, slumped against the wall, bruises forming around his neck. Three days since his boyfriend had moved in with him, insisting on installing a more advanced alarm system and that Daehyun press charges of assault against his ex. Three days since the mail began to fill up with countless amounts of cards, chocolates, small gifts that he had long since stopped opening and had instead thrown away.

It is torture, in simple terms. Daehyun feels like there is a constant pressure on his shoulders, as if he is being observed every second of the day and, knowing Yongguk, it isn’t entirely unlikely. Zico can only do so much to soothe him; his boyfriend can barely believe that he had been hurt by the same man that had written him countless amounts of raps. He had, in retrospect, never told Zico _who_ he had been running away from – it had always been a sensitive topic, and after they had gotten together, had never arisen again. It didn’t matter anyway.

“Another one?” He startles at the voice, spinning on his heel with fists clenched together. Across the room, Zico raises his hands, barely a threatening picture with sleep ruffled hair sticking up in every direction, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Hey, it’s just me, Dae.”

His sigh is loud enough to answer, “I don’t know why he keeps on sending me stuff. He _knows_ I’m not looking at it. He knows I don’t want it!” His voice is shrill with panic and anxiety, as it has become recently. The strain has put pressure on them both, showing in their behavior and features; the shadows across Daehyun’s face have never been darker, and Zico doesn’t initiate physical intimacy as he used to. Even when Yongguk is not there, they can feel his presence.

 

“I don’t know, Dae,” Zico sighs, getting two cups out from the cupboard for their coffee, “but we filed the police report yesterday, and they’ll get back to us tomorrow or something. He’s just crazy.” A mug is pressed into his hands and Daehyun takes a shaky sip, scalding his tongue with the bitter liquid. An arm winds itself around his waist and lips press to his temple, and he allows himself to close his eyes for a few seconds, imagining that it is just a regular day and his psychotic ex is not obsessively stalking him.

“You need to get ready for work.” He finally says, reluctantly extracting himself from the comforting embrace, “and I need to get ready for school.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay at home? Are you sure you want to go to school?” Zico draws a hand over his eyes, exhaustion evident in the darkness under his eyes, and Daehyun knows that the elder would far rather stay at home and sleep for another few hours.

“I have to, I have an assessment,” he reminds him, already moving to the fridge, “and you need to go in and finish recording.” The elder had been contacted to feature in some idol’s new music video, and was now creating a demo tape to submit. From behind him, he can hear the impatient sigh and the beginnings of a whine, so he pushes a plate full of fruit into the males hands, wagging a warning finger in his face. “Don’t argue.”

“Fine,” Zico acquiesces, “but I’m picking you up and dropping you off from school. I don’t want you alone on the streets.”

It is fair enough, given the circumstances, and they finish their breakfast fast, going through their daily routine of jostling for the mirror in the bathroom, stealing each other’s clothing, trying to find the keys to the car. Somehow, they make it out of the door by 8:12 and pulling up in front of Daehyun’s school by 8:34.  

“Bye!”

Leaning over to the drivers side, Daehyun kisses Zico twice; once on the cheek, and then on the lips. As he’s making his way into the building, he can hear his boyfriend yelling from the open window, “Bye, Daehyunnie! I love you! I’ll miss you baby!” Laughter follows and he ducks his head, face flushed because he _knows_ Zico is doing it to embarrass him.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to make it through class without him?” One of his classmates (a friendlier one) jokes, still sipping on a cup of coffee.

“I think I’ll be able to survive.” Rolling his eyes, he falls into step beside the male, heading to the music room.

The lecture passes quickly, kind of because he isn’t really listening, but then they are given time to practice their chosen songs. He has decided to sing an acapella version of Mirotic with three other men and, in his opinion, they sound great. Their voices are unique and quite different from each other’s but it works, somehow. They run through another practice and then it is time to present.

Groups pass quickly, each presentation three to four minutes, until it’s their turn. Daehyun makes no noticeable mistakes and their group receive positive feedback, which lifts his spirits. Once all the stages are done, the judges leave to choose a winner and the students socialize. He finds himself in the middle of a group, laughing and chatting with them, discussing what their plans are for the weekend, recent song releases and the like. One of the boys even invite him to a concert the weekend after the next and he gladly accepts, eager to make friends. Things are looking up and he is almost able to forget his personal problems, safe in the academy grounds, until the door opens again and the judges walk in, one carrying a bouquet of flowers.

“For you, Daehyun.” She says, holding out the flora. They were eight roses, all white except for one – a blood red bloom dead in the center of the arrangement. There is a note attached too, but he already has an idea of what it will say.

“Wow. Nice boyfriend.” One girl comments, nudging her own boyfriend in the side. Somehow, he manages to move and takes the bouquet, only realizing his hands are shaking when he sees the petals quivering.

“Aren’t you going to read the note?” He’s nudged in the side and after a few seconds, almost methodically, he plucks the paper from where it is nestled among the roses. “Read it out loud too, Daehyunnie.”

The writing inside the card is not Zico’s, but he already knew that.

“Daehyun,” he reads, repeatedly licking his lips to combat the sudden dryness, “I think about you every day. I miss you every second we’re apart. I’ll see you soon.” His voice sounds robotic, almost dead, but it is drowned out by the swell of cat calls and wolf whistles that erupt from his classmates. A hand clamps down on his shoulder and he jumps, trying to force a smile onto his face. They all think it is from Zico, whereas the signature at the bottom, the signed name of _Yongguk_ tells otherwise.

Suddenly, the crowd is too much and every direction he turns, there are eyes looking at him, bodies pressing in. Shoving people away, he breaks for the door and fumbles the handle, blocking out the confused calls of his name which fade as he sprints down the hallway. Seeing a garbage can, he stops to rid himself of the bouquet, although when he turns away, he can still smell the sickly sweetness. _I’ll see you soon_ reverberates through his head and there are eyes behind every corner, he can hear footsteps following him, hands grasp at his clothing. Would Yongguk dare to try and meet him in a public setting? Was the elder following him, watching him move like a mouse trapped in a maze?

The next turn finds him running straight into someone, who grabs his wrists. Daehyun screams, terrified and panicked, throwing his weight backward, but the grasp is too strong.

“Shit! Daehyun, calm down!” The equally as panicked voice does nothing to entice composure and instead he struggles harder, until he is let go. His back hits a wall and he scrambles away, hyperventilating until his vision clarifies and it’s Zico standing a few meters away, brow creased in concern and arms extended, as if to restrain him again.

“Zico.” He pants, not resisting as the elder comes closer, hesitantly enveloping him in a hug, “what are you doing here?”

“I stopped to get coffee after dropping you off and when I came back, my tires had been slashed. I phoned my producers and they moved it to a different date. So I just walked back here. But God, Daehyun, what happened?” It goes unmentioned but they both know who had probably slashed Zico’s tires. Fingers run through his hair, gentle and soft, scratching at the base of his neck the way that he likes it.

“He sent me flowers again,” Daehyun explains, fighting to remain sane even as his voice shakes, “and he knows where I am. He knows what classes I take and who’s in my classes and he was _here_ , he was _here_ and he could still be here and I’m so scared-“

Zico is childish at times but the thing that Daehyun loves about him is that he steps up in stressful situations. The taller male pulls him into a tight hug, kissing his forehead reassuringly before tugging him in the direction of the school exit.

“I called one of my friends,” his boyfriend explains briskly, “and he’s coming to pick us up now. We’ll go home for the day, and notify your school security to look out for Yongguk. And I’ll phone the police station again, to check up on how they’re doing with your claim. We can just watch a movie today and sleep early, okay? I think we both need a break.”

The car is outside, just as expected, and he is ushered into the back seat, where Zico slides in beside him. As they drive off, he looks back in time to see a blurry figure step out from behind a wall.

.   .   . 

Daehyun can’t say that there are many things that he misses about Yongguk, but there is one distinct aspect which had downgraded when he had started dating Zico: sex.

His preference of bedroom activities differed, depending on his mood, but there was one thing that did not change; he liked it rough. Nails down his back, fingers in his hair, any variety of toys. He liked to be handled until he felt that he would break, he liked being pushed to the edge of his limits. Yongguk provided for that. He didn’t know if the elder had influenced him or simply brought out the side of him that he had been unaware of, but Yongguk knew all the right buttons to push, all the right words to say, all the right ways to touch him until he begged.

Sex with Zico, on the other hand, was great but never satisfied him. Of course, his boyfriend was attentive to his needs and never failed to make him cum, but missed an aspect that he had indulged in with Yongguk. He had brought it up, once or twice, shyly as an offhanded comment, but it had never really worked out. All in all, the things he got from Zico outweighed the sex. Mostly.

“Harder!” He gasps, legs bent at odd angles as the elder leans over him, movie forgotten as their bodies move together. One hand clutches at a couch pillow while the other scrapes shallow marks down Zico’s back, clutching him closer as he’s fucked. There are lips on his and they kiss messily, mostly panting into each other’s mouths, but he wants teeth and tongue and hickeys all over his chest and when he guides Zico’s head down his neck, he is only bitten once, not enough to shoot him into a blissful high.

“God, Daehyun.” Zico mumbles against his neck, reaching between them to fist his cock, stroking it to the time of his thrusts. Daehyun’s stomach is coiling, hot and tight, and he locks his ankles behind the others waist, head thrown back in a silent cry as he convulses, painting his stomach in white. It takes maybe another minute before Zico finishes inside of him, and they collapse side by side.

“I thought we were supposed to be resting.” He sighs, feeling warm and loose post orgasm, smiling a little as lips brush over his sweaty temple.

“We can do that soon. I have to go buy groceries. Are you going to be okay here?” Bodies shift as Zico gets up, fetching a warm, wet cloth from the bathroom and using it to wipe himself off, and then Daehyun. Part of him doesn’t want to be left alone, but the other side is far too tired and relaxed to think about putting on clothes and going out again.

“No, I’ll stay,” he whispers, “we have fish in the fridge, right? I’ll make dinner for when you come back.”

“Remember to lock the door behind me – and the alarm system is on, if anyone tries to get in, it will alert the police. There’s a bat in the kitchen, if you need it, and I’ll only be a few minutes away – no, wait, I don’t have a car. Maybe fifteen minutes away. I’ll be back in an hour. I’ll have my phone with me.” Zico dresses as he talks, pulling his hoodie over his head before coming to sit beside him, brushing hair from his face. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“Yes, I’ll be okay. I’ll stay in the house and stay alert, okay? Don’t worry. Come back safe. And we need more eggs.”

“Kay. Don’t open the door for anyone. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

▼

 

From his viewpoint, Yongguk watches as Daehyun is pressed back into the sofa, his lover – Zico, if he can remember his name correctly – kissing down his neck. He scoffs, watching them from where they had left a curtain open, knowing that Daehyun certainly wasn’t getting what he wanted.

It had been relatively easy for him to rent an apartment across and a little bit above Daehyun’s one. The neighborhood was on the poorer side and the actual rooms were tiny, cold, and old. It wasn’t like he had much use for it, anyway, other than to jealously watch his loved one go through his life, sometimes with his new boyfriend by his side, sometimes on his own.

One thing that he does note happily, is that Daehyun’s sex life is probably considerably worse than when they had been dating. He knew that Daehyun didn’t want to just be fucked; he wanted to be put on his knees, hands tied behind his back and head pulled back.

He turns away as they finish, not wanting to see the gooey lovey dovey actions that they go through after. Only later, as he watches Zico exit the apartment, does he gather up his things, scooping up a bouquet of flowers lying on the floor, and make his way outside.

The next thing he knows, he’s standing at the back of a building, knuckles bloodied and ripped. His jacket is on the ground, beside the now wrecked flowers, and worst of all, there is a body lying at his feet. He doesn’t need to check to see if he is alive or not. The boy’s face has been beaten in, skull cracked against the wall, limbs sprawled out at unnatural angles. There is blood everywhere: on his hands, on his clothes, on the ground, all over the boy. The dark pool underneath the body is steadily growing bigger, and Yongguk is transfixed by the way that the boy’s eyes are open and staring at the sky, although part of his face has given in and his right socket is completely smashed in.

“Oh God.” He chokes out, backing away from the corpse. His mind is telling him that _he_ did it, but he has no recollection of it, no memories of meeting the male or hurting him. All he can remember is leaving the apartment to find Daehyun. “Oh God.”

He panics, in the end, grabbing his jacket and the ruined flowers and leaving the boy there. There isn’t much of a clear thought running through his mind, and the only concrete idea he has is to find Daehyun. Daehyun would know what to do.

 

▼

 

Halfway through his cooking preparations, he realizes that the garbage bin is full. There is nowhere for him to put the fish carton, or the other things that he will need to discard later and so, with a sigh, he double bags the waste and lugs it towards the back door.

He is only dressed in his bathrobe, tied securely around his waist, and he makes sure to check outside before carefully unlocking the door. The waste bin is close by, maybe a thirty second sprint, and it’s almost impossible to get into the complex’s back yard. He should be safe enough, besides – his neighbors will surely hear him scream for help.

The trip is uneventful and he lugs the heavy bag into the larger bin with some difficulty, securing the latch on again once he’s done. It is only when he turns around does his blood run cold.

Yongguk is there, fifty meters away from him, and he is _covered_ in blood. His normally immaculate clothing is ripped in places, soaked through with the red liquid, and he carries a bouquet of flowers that may have originally been white daisies but were now spattered in red.

“Daehyun.” The elder calls quietly, stepping towards him. He responds by turning away and scrambling back up the stairs, his scream of terror caught in his throat. The door is locked and he fumbles for his key, hands shaking as the other advances, slowly, as if dazed.

“Stay away from me.” He threatens, voice trembling as he searches in his pockets for the key. Once he grasps it, he struggles to insert it into the lock, finding it hard to think and even breathe as he listens to the heavy steps coming up the stairs towards him. “Yongguk, _please_. Don’t come closer.”

Just as Yongguk reaches the top flight, he manages to wrench the door open and immediately runs inside, intending to slam it shut in the elders face. A stronger grasp reaches for the doorknob and they struggle, until it is slowly forced open and the male pushes his way into his apartment.

“Daehyun, I swear – I didn’t do anything,” he can barely hear the words over the sound of his heart thumping in his chest, even though Yongguk has his hands up and open, as if trying to prove his innocence, “I don’t know what happened! I didn’t hurt anyone. You know me. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, and three days ago you choked me.” Daehyun manages to spit out, groping the counter behind him for a weapon of any kind. “You need to leave. Right now. I’m going to call the police.”

“What are you talking about, Daehyun? I didn’t choke you.” Despite his warnings, the other comes closer, a confused frown pulling at his lips and he can’t tell if it’s an act or not. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you anymore.”

Pulling the neckline of his robe down, he shows off the dark ring of bruises around his throat. Five marks, from where Yongguk’s five fingers had squeezed the oxygen out of him.

“You did.” He insists. “And…God, Yongguk, you need help. You really need help. Please – please, step back and I can call the doctor. We can talk about it-“

“I didn’t do that. I don’t remember it.” Yongguk steps forward again, crowding him against the counter, almost bewildered as he lifts his right hand, gently fitting it at his neck, as if to check if the fingerprints match. They do, he knows they will, and the taller male seems to be stunned by this, licking his lips once and then reaching for him again. “I- Daehyun, I’ve never wanted to hurt you. I love you, you know that? You’re everything to me. I would _never_ hurt you on purpose.”

It’s hard for him to take in the words, to even focus on anything, because all he can smell is the iron tinge of blood. Yongguk’s fingers have circled around his wrist, pulling him closer and a nose buries into his hair. The elder clings to him desperately, like he might disappear, and Daehyun can only silently pray that Zico will be back earlier than expected.

“I missed you so much. You’re all I think about.” Tender kisses are scattered over his face and Daehyun is too scared to move, closing his eyes and holding himself rigid as Yongguk gently pecks his eyelids, his nose, and finally his lips. _I love you_ ’s are whispered into his ear, again and again, and he brings himself to nod.

“I know, Yongguk.” He finally replies, shuddering as lips mould themselves around his pulse point on his neck, a tongue briefly swiping over the vein. Daehyun is afraid to push him away, in case it would trigger another episode of whatever Yongguk had turned into the last time he had rejected him. Instead, he allows himself to be caressed and gently held, as if he was made of glass.

They stay like that for what could have been an eternity; breathing each other’s oxygen as Yongguk slowly kisses every part of his body available, trailing butterflies from his inner wrist up to his elbow, scattering his cheeks in them. What finally breaks them from the trance is Daehyun’s TV, turned down to a low volume, suddenly switching to breaking news.

_Some images may be extremely graphic…viewer discretion is advised…_

The news camera shows a body, thrown against a wall like a rag doll, mangled beyond repair. The anchorwoman is speaking at a rapid pace, trying to keep up with information, but Daehyun isn’t listening to her.

“Did you do that?” He gasps, turning towards Yongguk. The male has a guilty expression on his face, although he also looked somewhat confused. The anchorwoman, still talking, describes the scene; an abandoned street, a boy who had recently moved to Seoul and was getting used to his new surroundings, a bloody, violent attack that ended in murder.

Daehyun had always believed Yongguk to be gentle, even a pacifist, but seeing the recent changes and the bloody man in front of him, he couldn’t be certain that the elder hadn’t actually killed the boy.

“No! I-I don’t think so. I saw him, but I can’t remember hurting him.” The taller man approaches him desperately, reaching out to hold him again. He skirts away, backtracking around the counter and towards the front door.

“Do you remember choking me, Yongguk?” He asks, voice shaking. “Stop following me, please,” he pleads, “do you know how you look right now? Covered in blood? God, Yongguk, they’re going to be looking for you.”

“No, but I didn’t hurt him? Why would I do that? Why would I want to hurt him?” Yongguk stops moving, standing in the entry of the kitchen, looking at him helplessly. “Please, Daehyun. Please believe me. There’s something _wrong_. I keep on blacking out and I can’t remember things. I even went to the psychiatrist. If I did something, I didn’t _mean_ to.”

The explanation sounds sketchy, but the male looks so sincere that it’s plausible. However, it only strengthens the belief that Yongguk had, in fact, killed the boy, and that meant that he was currently harbouring a criminal. Not to mention the fact that Yongguk had just _killed_ someone.

“You need to leave,” he orders shakily, “they’re going to identify you and I can’t have you in my house. Turn yourself in. They can get you help, Guk. They’ll be able to help you. Even if I believe you, they won’t.”

“But I’ll go to jail. And I won’t be able to see you anymore.”

“Yongguk,” he reminds him gently, “you killed someone. And even if you didn’t, you just told me that you’re having blackouts.”

With slow steps, as if he was walking through water, Yongguk approaches him and he doesn’t move. Fingers twine through his hair, an arm wraps around his waist, and the elder all but collapses into his arms.

“I’m scared, Dae.” He can barely hear the choked confession from where the other whispered it against his shoulder. “I-I didn’t mean to. Really. I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone, you have to know that, I’ve never meant to hurt you. I love you. I love you more than anything. You know that, right? I’ve always loved you.”

On impulse, momentarily dazed from the recent events, Daehyun tugs on Yongguk’s jacket until he turns to look at him, and then gently plants his lips onto the plush ones. The elders mouth tastes like blood and the lingering aftertaste of cigarettes and a fresh, minty sweet sort of flavour because he knows that Yongguk sucks on Halls when he’s nervous or stressed. It doesn’t last long, he doesn’t let it, even when the taller clings to him. Pulling away, he presses another, final, kiss to his nose.

“We will work something out, okay Guk? I promise. I promise it’ll be okay.” Holding onto the shaking male tightly, he can’t help but feel that their roles have been reversed. It has always been him who has needed comfort, and it is now time for him to repay Yongguk. “I know, it’s okay. We can get you help. Don’t worry.”

Caressing the bloodied strands of hair, Daehyun sighs a little, glancing at the clock. It has been thirty minutes; Zico is due to be back soon, and the clock is not on their side.

“Gukkie,” he whispers, smiling a little when his eyes are met, “you have to go. Zico is coming back-“

The rest of his sentence goes unfinished as Yongguk pulls away suddenly, drawing back as if stung.

“Is that why you want me to turn myself in? Because you’re worried about Zico?” Yongguk’s voice has lost all sentimental value and comes out cold, calculating. Barely restrained. Daehyun has messed up.

“No! It isn’t like that. I just- people are looking for you, Yongguk,” he says quickly, tightening his robe around his waist anxiously, “and you don’t get along with him- I want you to be safe-“

Something flies at him and he barely manages to duck, listening to the object (he thinks it is a bowl) shatter behind him. The elder has seemed to grow, swelling to fill the doorway, face cast in shadows. The previously soft hands have hooked into claws, and Yongguk’s lips have drawn back into a snarl.

“So that’s it, huh? You don’t want me around? Were you just saying that so you could get me out of your life?” He advances and Daehyun is quick to back up, almost cowering away from him.

“Yongguk,” His voice comes out as a whimper, “that isn’t what I meant. Please, you’re scaring me. I’ll-I’ll call him and say that he can’t come back. We can just wait, together. You and I.”

Yongguk’s features flicker for a second, changing from menacing to something softer, more anguished, more confused. And then it is gone and Daehyun screams in fear as he is grabbed, trapped in the narrow hallway. He is hauled back into the kitchen, kicking and shrieking, pleading for Yongguk to let him go. The counter is cleared with an angry swipe of the elders arm, knocking his carefully prepared vegetables and seasoning to the ground, and he is slammed against it, stomach first. Gasping for breath, he automatically curls to press his chest against the cold granite, even as his bathrobe is ripped from his body.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Dae.” Yongguk’s voice is velvet against his ear, lips moving down to bite on his shoulder, sucking a large hickey while he squirms, pushing his hands against the granite in an attempt to gain leverage. “You dirty _slut_. Shouldn’t you know by now, I’m not going _anywhere_. I’m going to be here, watching you, no matter where you go. You’re _mine._ ”

“Stop!” His hands are tied behind his back with the sash of his bathrobe, a knee pressing between his legs until he is forced to part them slightly, and he can already tell that this time will be far worse than what he has already experienced. It’s been thirty minutes. Fifteen to get there, fifteen to shop. Even if Zico has finished by now, it would take another fifteen to get back and who knows what might happen to him by then? Teeth close down on his neck and he cries out in pain, thrashing from side to side while Yongguk works on covering his neck in angry red marks. The elders left hand secures in his hair, yanking his head back, an elbow resting in the small of his back so that he is forced to arch, holding him immobile.

“What, Dae? I know you like it. I watched you today. Maybe next time you should close your curtains. Does your Zico fuck you the way you like it?” Yongguk’s free hand skirts over his exposed skin, groping at the flesh of his stomach and then reaching up to pinch his nipples. There is a strange noise coming from somewhere, and he realizes it is him, almost sobbing in fear.

“Yes.” He gasps, flinching as fingers close around his neck.

“Liar.” The fingers tighten, cutting off his oxygen, for a few seconds before he is let go so that Yongguk can continue flicking his nails over the buds on his chest, until they are stiff and almost sore to the touch. Clenching his teeth tightly, Daehyun squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to listen as he hears the elder rummaging through the drawers beside him. He already knew what he is looking for. “You still keep lube in the kitchen?” Yongguk laughs at him, holding the small bottle of clear lubricant that he has always kept there, just in case Zico ever felt like trying something new. “Remember when we were together,” the elder casually chats as he uncaps the bottle and squeezes it down Daehyun’s stomach, “and we used to cook together? I used to come up behind you like this and you used to grind against me. And then I’d lift one of your legs up onto the counter and fuck you like that, listening to you scream my name, until I let you come? You were such a good boy, too.” Fingers ghost down his skin, covering themselves in lube, before gripping gently at the base of his cock.

“Yongguk, stop. _Please_. Please, you said you didn’t want to hurt me, you said you love me-“ What he is saying barely makes sense anymore, it’s just nonsensical begging, and Yongguk doesn’t seem to be listening as he runs his thumb over the head of his cock, rubbing tiny circles over the slit until sparks of pleasure warm him.

“Shhh, Daehyun. Good boys don’t talk unless I ask you to.” Yongguk presses himself forward, trapping him between the counter and a warm body, and he can feel the elders arousal against his back. When the hand in his hair loosens just slightly, he throws himself backward, startling the other, and runs.

He has barely made it into the living room before he’s caught again, screaming at the top of his lungs as he’s hauled back into the kitchen.

“You stupid whore.” Yongguk rages, silencing him with a sharp slap to his face, snapping his head to the side and silencing him for a few seconds. The elder throws him back against the counter and searches through the drawers again, leaving him frozen in fear before coming back with a serrated knife that he used for filleting fish. “Try to run again,” the male threatens, dragging the tip down his side, following the slots of his ribcage, “and I’ll slice you up. Okay? And that would be a shame, seeing how pretty you are.” The tip of the knife is placed against his bottom lip and he can just stare, wide eyed and fighting back tears. “It’s okay, Daehyunnie.” Yongguk smiles, pressing down until his flesh cuts and blood bubbles into his mouth. He can barely stop his choked sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks as Yongguk leans forward and latches onto his lip, sucking the crimson red away.

When he is ordered to turn around, he can barely manage to make his legs move, knees trembling as he’s bent over the granite island again. The knife is placed on the edge of the counter, the bonds holding his hands together checked again, before Yongguk grabs the lube.

“Are you going to be a good boy, Daehyunnie?” The elder asks, slicking his hand back up and gripping him loosely again.

“Yes,” he hiccups, shuddering in revulsion as he’s touched, his body responding in ways he doesn’t want it to, “I’ll be good.”

“I’ll make you feel good, babe. Don’t worry. Zico can’t satisfy you the way that I can. You know why? Because we were made for each other.” As Yongguk talks, he flicks his wrist up and down, taking special care to trace the pad of his thumb down a vein that he knows that Daehyun likes. “We were meant to be together, you see? You belong to me and I belong to you. That’s just the way it’s supposed to be.”

Yongguk continues to grind against him, rough denim scraping his skin with one hand gripping bruises on his hip as the other jerks him off. He ends up hard, precum leaking from his cock, even as tears leak from his eyes. The only hope for him is that Zico will come back and save him – or the police will track down Yongguk. Or maybe he would break away from whatever spell he was under.

“God, you’re so perfect.” The other growls against his neck, thumbing his slit until Daehyun’s hips jerk forward. He can only whimper in response, hoping that if he stays quiet, it wouldn’t give the elder another reason to hurt him. When his breath turns ragged and his head falls to the side, eyelashes fluttering, Yongguk stops and turns him around to kiss him. It’s slow and passionate, the cut on his lip stinging as Yongguk pushes his tongue into his mouth. Daehyun doesn’t respond, holding himself rigid and still. He’s lifted onto the counter, sitting on the edge and then pushed downward, and his hands are secured to the opposite end, tied against the drawer knobs.

“Don’t cry, Daehyun.” Yongguk says, thumbing away his tears. A glance at the clock. Forty minutes. He focuses on that, instead of the mouth moving down his body, the tongue swirling around one of his nipples and the other one pinched, the body that slots between his legs and the finger pressing against his entrance. “You’re beautiful, like this. All stretched out for me.”

He tries to draw his knees inward, closing his legs, but stops when Yongguk grabs the knife again. _Twenty more minutes. Please, please let Zico come. Please let someone have heard me screaming. Please don’t let him hurt me_. Daehyun has never been religious, doesn’t believe in unworldly forces controlling destiny, but he felt like praying. There is something so demonic in Yongguk’s face that he’s almost unrecognizable. It’s like he’s missing a vital part of him that made him Yongguk, and it has been replaced with something utterly evil.

“Please, Yongguk.” He whimpers, his ankle held in a tight grip so that he can’t wiggle away as the finger slowly pushes into him. “Please. Don’t do this. I don’t want this.”

Yongguk pauses, his features flickering again and just briefly, he can see _his_ Yongguk before he’s gone.

“No.” The elder laughs, slowly sliding a second finger into him. “You’ve been bad and I have to teach you a lesson. Besides, look at you. You like it. You like it when I do _this_.” The digits crooks, at exactly the right angle, and he arches up with a gasp as Yongguk finds his prostate. “See, Dae? I _know_ you. Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

Before he can respond, Yongguk glares at him, fingers still moving leisurely, twisting and moving in just the right ways.

“Don’t speak, unless it’s to moan my name or beg for more. I know that you’re good at it.” Daehyun clamps his lips shut, sentencing himself to silence. Craning his neck, he can see Yongguk unzipping his pants with his free hand, pulling himself out. “Don’t worry,” he smirks, seeing Daehyun’s worried expression, “I’m not going to fuck you. I want to watch you cum. You look gorgeous mid-orgasm.”

It eases his worry, just the smallest amount, although he didn’t feel any better about Yongguk fingering him. A third finger joins the first two, stretching him almost uncomfortably, and sweat breaks out behind his knees and against his back as the elder stroked the sensitive bundle of nerves. His cock leaks precum onto his stomach, warmth gathering in the pit of his stomach, and he is finding it hard to stay still; each time Yongguk touches his prostate, he archs and his stomach would clench. Drawing his legs further apart with a groan, he can see that the elder was close too – he is stroking himself with faster movements, eyes fixed on him as he shudders.

“Say my name,” Yongguk orders. Seeing that Daehyun is going to refuse, his fingers still, pressing hard against his nerves and drawing a helpless cry from him, “or I won’t let you cum.”

“Stop.” He manages to whine, throwing his head to the side as he convulses again, pleasure bordering pain coursing through his body. “A-ahhh…Yongguk! Yongguk, Yongguk.”

With that, Yongguk resumes his erratic thrusts, and it isn’t long before his hands tighten into fists, hips stuttering upward once as he cums over his stomach. The elder growls his name, pulling his fingers from inside him and instead stroking his cock, pumping them in unison until he grunts and spills his seed over Daehyun’s thighs and stomach.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Yongguk asks, smirking as he looks down on Daehyun, who glares back as best as he can. “I’ll go get a cloth and clean you up.” He takes the knife with him too, leaving him splayed out on the counter. Immediately, once the elder is out of sight, Daehyun starts wiggling. His hands are only loosely bound and he has to be careful not to bang the drawer open and closed as he fights to free himself. Upstairs, the bathroom sink runs, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before Yongguk comes back downstairs. And then what?

Just as he manages to free one hand, the front door opens and Zico walks in, laden with shopping bags. His boyfriend scans the living room, confusion showing on his face as he takes in the overturned chair, the forgotten bathrobe, until his eyes travel into the kitchen.

“Daehyun!” Zico’s question of surprise is too loud, bags crashing to the ground as his boyfriend immediately makes his way over to him.

“SHhhh!” He urgently presses a finger to his lips, but it is too late. The sound of water running stops, and there are footsteps above them.

“Daehyun?” Yongguk’s gravelly voice can be heard coming down the stairs and Zico’s face alights with a realization as to what is happening. He disappears into the next room, leaving Daehyun to finish ridding himself of his bonds as the other appears. “What the fuck-“

“Yongguk, wait, I wasn’t-“ He runs to the left as Yongguk approaches from the right, circling the island in a desperate attempt to get away from the angry male. As Yongguk passes the door that Zico had hidden in, it bursts open and his boyfriend appears wielding a bat, which he brought down on Yongguk’s back with enough force that he heard a crack.

“Phone the police!” Zico orders him and he runs into the next room just as he sees Yongguk turning around, holding his shoulder.

The phone isn’t in its charging place. They always forgot to put it back, leaving it all over the place, and he scrambles desperately in the couch pillows, flipping blankets over, scanning the room. From the kitchen, he can hear shouts and things breaking, the crack of wood against the granite and shoes against the ground. He finally spots the phone lying on top of a few books and lunges for it, almost unable to dial the three numbers needed.

“Nine one one, what is your emergency?” The voice on the other end is calm in comparison to his own ragged breath and he babbles, words rushing to get out. He’s crying, as well, afraid to go into the kitchen again, even when he hears Zico’s yell of pain.

“Sir, can you tell me where you are? Who is with you?” Yongguk appears again, panting and wounded, but alone. He crosses the room with purpose and Daehyun can only sob as the phone is ripped from his hands.

“You’ve been a bad boy, Daehyun.” The elder is eerily calm, even smiling, as he presses the call end button and throws it onto the couch.

“Please, please, Yongguk. Please.” He cowers, body limp as he’s lifted up, forced to stand up. Yongguk laughs.

“You haven’t realized yet, Daehyun?” Fingers brush his hair from his face, wipe tears from his eyes and then Yongguk grins, wide and psychotic. “I’m not Yongguk.”

“Who are you?” He whispers as a hand closes around his throat and squeezes.

“Yongnam. And I’m going to kill your boyfriend.”

He blacks out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!


	4. Destruction

It is night when he awakens. He knows because the curtains on the window beside him are parted just slightly, and he can see the grey sky, broken only by the orange colour of street lamps that mark each side of the road.

On instinct, he knows that he’s at Yongguk’s place. Knows from the way it smells, like ramen and cedar wood, and the clippings of paper that are taped to the wall. Yongguk had sponsored a few children in North Africa, while they had been together, and he could see the things that he had received from the organization: pictures, letters, updates, the like.

His arms are loosely tied behind his back, like he had meant to escape, and he wrestles with those for a bit before managing to slide the rough rope off, rubbing his wrists to get circulation flowing again. The door is locked from the outside, and he’s too frightened to try to kick it, in case Yongguk would come back.

He’s been placed in Yongguk’s study. Papers scatter the desk, writing utensils strewn everywhere, a pair of headphones plugged into an ancient Ipod Classic that the elder refused to get rid of. It brought a smile to his lips, worn and sad, as he remembered their multiple arguments in electronic stores, him trying to convince Yongguk to get one of the newer versions, Yongguk steadfastly refusing any of the offerings. He can see some reminders of their relationship; there is a vase that Daehyun had created, during one of his artistic fazes where he had tried pottery, and sparkly pens that he had gotten as a joke, but Yongguk used anyway.

Daehyun glances around the room and does a double take when he sees a mirror, hanging up beside the window. His reflection scares him. Bluish marks have just begun to show, ringed around his throat from where Yongguk had squeezed, and his hair was disheveled. His robe is still tied around his waist, bloody and crumpled, but there was also a fresh set of clothing sitting on the desk. He pulls them on as fast as he could, ignoring the burn marks around his wrists and the ache in his back and bottom. A bottle of water is placed just at the windowsill, paired with a simple sandwich, and he sniffed at each warily, picking apart the lettuce and cheese and meat and bread before tucking in. He is already a captive – what was the worst that being drugged would do?

In the back of his mind, he knows that he should be doing something more productive, like trying to escape and find Zico and get help. He’s afraid, though. Of what is past the secure door and the safety of the room. Of what he would find if he _did_ find Zico, and what – or who – would be waiting for him.

He would be smart, he thought. Yongguk always kept a set of keys in places that he frequented most, like his study. There is bound to be a ring around somewhere. His study was the notorious place for where he dumped everything and even if he had been smart enough to remove the main keys, he would have a loose one around somewhere.

First, he starts on the hangers. Jackets and coats are lined up and he searches through the pockets, pulling out crumpled bits of paper, receipts, grocery lists and the like, but no keys. Next are the drawers. They are, as expected, filled to the brim with random things that had no use. Excessive amounts of bull clips, staples, tangled earphones, small candies, glasses cases, bottles of cream, granola bars, sticky notes. But no key. The second is stuffed full of lined pieces of paper and folders containing song after song that were half complete or going through the revision process. The third was basically empty. The fourth, and final, drawer was locked. Daehyun pulled, yanking again and again as the worn wood protested, jiggling just a little further with each heave. Finally, the hinges creaked and gave way, sending him tumbling backwards with a thump.

Inside were books. Most of them were old and creased, with dog ears on almost every age, and spine bent. From personal experience, Daehyun knew that they were Yongguk’s favourite books – some of them he had gotten signed by the author, braving the long lines and boredom to talk to them for a few minutes. _To Kill a Mockingbird, Black Like Me, Obey: Supply and Demand_. And many more. Sifting through them, his fingers struck something that was not a book and he removed everything, stacking the paperbacks into piles, so that he could pull out the new object.

It was a chest. A small one, but beautifully created. The mahogany gleamed under the fading sun, and he was just able to make out the carvings on the lid and the sides. It was held closed by a simple clasp, which he undid slowly, sitting in the middle of the room where he could see the best.

Inside, there is a photo album and individual objects, barely noticeable in the dimming light. From the box, he pulls out a delicate gold chain with an equally as simple ring swinging like a pendulum. Daehyun’s chest clenched. He had gotten it for the elder on their first Valentines together, even getting Yongguk’s name engraved into the soft metal of the inner ring. Next, a crumpled piece of paper, creased from folding and unfolding, edges worn and tattered. Sheet music, for the first song that they had sung together as a duet: Proposal, by Noel. It remained one of Daehyun’s favourite songs, and he knew for a fact that the elder had specially gone out and got the album recreated on a vinyl disk for his old record player, even though he insisted that he had randomly stumbled upon it in a shop.

Yongguk had kept ever single piece of their relationship. The movie ticket from their first date, the small clay heart that Daehyun had given him when they had decide to try couple’s pottery classes, a frayed blue ribbon that had wrapped Yongguk’s birthday present. As he sifted through the box, each memory hit him. The dried petals of a rose that an old couple had given to them when they had watched the fireworks for some sort of celebration, Daehyun curled up against the elders chest under the guise that he was cold, even though their fingers were intertwined under Yongguk’s jacket. A thin, light purple length of rope that they had used to first experiment with bondage – Yongguk had admitted that he had gotten the colour because it was Daehyun’s favourite, and he had wanted him to be comfortable. A jar with dried grass and old flowers and a twig, where they had bought a Monarch caterpillar and raised it into a butterfly, releasing it when spring came so that it could grow up and be free. A tiny, sad looking stuffed bear that Daehyun had won at a carnival, a consolidatory prize, for participating in a dart throwing game that he had really sucked at but had proudly given to Yongguk. A crumbling flower crown of daisies, created on a picnic day, when Yongguk had driven them out far past the city limits so that they could spread their blanket out in a sea of green hills and dandelions, feeding each other with their fingers and stealing kisses under the warm sun.

He can’t believe that Yongguk had kept everything. Every single important date, every happy experience, it was all documented in the box that the elder kept locked away in his study, almost as if he was still treasuring them. As if he didn’t want to forget.

The album was filled with similar memoirs. Snapshots of the places that they had been, foods that they had tried, things that they had seen. And pictures of them. Countless pictures of them. It was obvious to see who had been holding the camera from the kind of pictures that they took. Yongguk liked to snap shots when he was unaware, lying on the ground with his eyes closed and face turned towards the sun, or his back profile as he ran ahead, pointing excitedly at something in the distance. Daehyun preferred taking pictures of the scenery around them, often blurry and unfocused, or selcas when he managed to coerce him into smiling for the camera.

Page after page, picture after picture, it all came flooding back. The excitement from the first time that Yongguk had held his hand as they walked down the street. Nervousness, bringing Yongguk home to his brother and parents under the guise of ‘just a friend’, although his family had known him better than that. The rush of love and happiness as their relationship progressed, learning how to love someone and be loved in return, developing trust and loyalty as he gave his virginity to the man, the developing hope that he would one day marry Yongguk. It even went up to the last few months, when their relationship became strained and finally broke off. And, on the very last picture place, tucked into a corner of the clear plastic film, was a room key.

Daehyun replaces everything carefully. Perhaps it’s short sighted of him, to waste time reorganizing the remains of their relationship, but it feels important. He doesn’t want to disturb what Yongguk has carefully collected and obviously kept in good condition. It just doesn’t feel right.

Once everything is back where he found it and he shut the drawer again, he pushes himself up and dusts off his knees, gripping the cold metal between his fingers. The key slides into the lock and he carefully twists it, cracking the door open just the slightest to peer out, looking for any signs of life.

The hallways is empty. The main lights are off and each outlet is decorated with a tiny nightlight shaped like the sun, which sends another pang through his heart. They had picked them out together, at an art festival, because Daehyun always got scared of the dark corridors when he slept over.

His feet freeze against the cold wooden boards as he tiptoes down the stairs, avoiding the places he knew would creak. He needed to find Zico and get out of the house, phone the police and alert them of what was happening. There was something _wrong_ with Yongguk and he needs help, needs proper help, before he hurt anyone else.

Down the hallways, a light is on and he knows that it is coming from the kitchen. He listens carefully but can’t hear anything, and Yongguk isn’t the quietest person around. When he rounds the corner, providing him with a look into the large room, he gasps.

Zico is there, but he doesn’t look like Zico. His shirt has been ripped away and torn, jacket crumpled on the ground beside him and white tank top laying in bloody strips off of his shoulders. Under the remains of his top, bruises are beginning to bloom on his skin; red and purple splotched over his shoulders, arms and torso, some places split open and oozing blood. In other places, it is clear that Yongguk had used a knife to inflict damage – thin cuts crisscrossing his flesh and deeper, jagged ones bleeding into large puddles onto the ground. There is a plastic covering spread out on the tiles, catching the red liquid, and Zico’s arms and legs are tied tightly to the chair that he sat in. His boyfriend’s head lolled to the side, both eyes swollen and bruised. His mouth looks less like a mouth and more like a pulp of raw flesh. He is obviously unconscious as Daehyun scurries over, avoiding the small pools of blood, unable to fully process the scene in front of him.

“Zico!” He whispers, gingerly shaking a single shoulder. The elder doesn’t respond, but it doesn’t surprise him. Patting his shoulder gingerly, not wanting to injure him anymore, Daehyun set to work pulling at the ropes that bound him still. They had been tied so tight that Zico’s fingers turned white, blood circulation stopped at the point where the rough material bit into his skin. Despite his desperate yanks, they don’t yield and he only grows more panicked as the seconds tick by. It would not be long before Yongguk comes back; the elder is not one to leave loose ends unattended for long. Scrambling to his feet, he yanks drawers open and rifles through the dishwasher until he procures a large knife, serrated at the edge and very sharp. With his new tool, it only takes a few minutes before he is pulling the remains of the ropes away, massaging life back into the elders fingers.

Zico stirs a minute later, a soft involuntary groan passing his lips and his eyelashes flutter, trying to force his lids open past the swollen flesh. _We won’t be able to escape,_ Daehyun thought, _not with him like this._ Yongguk’s house was further from the city than they could walk and he couldn’t drive a car.

“Dae…” Hearing his name, he looks up to see Zico blearily staring at him, pain and confusion clouding his gaze.

“Zico,” he whispers back. If they had time, if he knew that Yongguk wouldn’t be back, he would try to patch him up. Find a first aid kit and give him a few painkillers. But they don’t have time and he can’t find sympathy, past the shock and fear, as he physically hauls the other to his feet and hears a moan of pain. “We need to go, Zico. Right now. He’s going to be back soon. He’s going to be back soon and he’s going to kill us and we need to _go_.”

His words don’t really matter because all of a sudden, he can hear noises from the kitchen door that was connected to the garage. Letting go of Zico, letting him fall back into the chair, Daehyun runs over and pulls the door shut with a bang just as it is beginning to open. From the other end, he can hear Yongguk’s shout of anger, but that doesn’t stop him from locking it and wedging another chair under the handle, hopefully buying them some time.

“Daehyun! Open the damn door!” Something hard, maybe a fist, bangs on the frame and it shudders.

“Go away!” He screams back, grabbing Zico by the arm and forcibly yanking him upright, dragging him forward even though the elder was yelling in pain. There is silence and a bang, and Daehyun knows that Yongguk is kicking at the door, violently smashing his way in, bringing him closer to their deaths.

His ears are filled with the sound of splintering wood and anguished groans and his own quick pants for air. Everything seemed sharp and slowed down, as if he was moving at a faster pace than time, nerve endings hypersensitive. For a second, he fancies that, if he focuses hard enough, he could teleport them back to their apartment. And then the moment passes and he hears a final bang, the abused door giving way, and Yongguk shoving the chair out of the way.

There is a clicking sound, like something fall into place, and Zico screams his name. When he turns, warm liquid splatters across his face.

Zico collapses. The place where his face used to be, where Daehyun used to smile at and kiss and touch, was gone, except for red flesh and a twisted expression that he can only describe as fear.

From behind Zico, Yongguk lowers the gun, expression unreadable.

There is a scream building up in his throat but Daehyun is frozen, lips parted without any sound coming out. The previous high of extreme clarity is gone and in its place, a fluid sluggishness that bogged down his arms and legs.

It is obvious that Zico is dead. That he manages to process. There is blood on his face and on the previously clean shirt and spreading in a puddle on the ground, gathering in little pools on the plastic. Daehyun is glad that the mop of hair that he had always urged the elder to cut had fallen over his face because he didn’t want to see the mess of flesh exploded outward, or the way that the bone of his boyfriend’s cheekbone was exposed. Still, he can only manage to stare blankly as Yongguk crosses the room, casually kicking Zico out of the way, so that he could grab Daehyun by the wrist.

Even as his chin is tilted up, forcing him to stare into the others amused eyes, he can’t summon any sort of emotion. It’s like the previously overflowing basin of emotions has suddenly emptied, watching Zico die in front of him.

“You killed him.” He eventually whispers, licking his lips before he spoke. They taste like blood.

“I told you that I would.” Yongguk replies with a single shouldered shrug. He doesn’t even look triumphant. Daehyun shudders. “I told you that I’d get you back.”

A finger gently tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear, the elder brushing a thumb over his bottom lip. The gun is still in his hand and Daehyun doesn’t think that he would be able to run, even if he wanted to.

“Yongguk,” his voice cracks and for a second, he sees a look of pain flash across the elders face, “Yongguk, please. It’s Daehyun.”

Yongguk laughs, but he knows it isn’t Yongguk. It’s the _other_ one, the one that is Yongguk but not Yongguk.

“Yongguk isn’t here right now,” the male sneers, grip on his wrist tightening so that he could crowd him against the door frame, press his body against his, “and he isn’t coming back. Yongguk is weak. He cares too much for you, but you don’t deserve that. You _slut_.”

Daehyun closes his eyes as a rough hand slips around his waist to grope his ass, unresisting as he is herded upstairs by prodding to his back with the barrel of the gun. Even when he is laid down on Yongguk’s bed, gun placed onto the side table just out of reach, he doesn’t protest. The elders frame is silhouetted by the moonlight as he pulls his shirt over his head, languidly rolling his shoulders and unbuckling his jeans before crawling on top of him, trapping him between the soft mattress and a muscled body.

“You aren’t going to fight?” Yongguk sounds surprised but pleased as he drags a hand down his chest, unhurriedly flicking each of the buttons holding his shirt together open.

“Why should I? You’re going to just tie me down or kill me anyway.” He’s guided upward by a hand on the small of his back, their bare chests pressing together as Yongguk buries his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. Daehyun shudders, cool air sending goose bumps up his arms. The elder takes his time, revelling in his win. Every cell in his body is repulsed but he forces himself to stay relaxed, even as both palms slide between his thighs and caress him there.

“You’re beautiful, Dae.” Yongguk presses feather light kisses over his stomach, holding his hips down as his muscles jump under the attention.

“I’m scared, Guk.” His words are directed at the ceiling, a soft gasp shuttering past his lips the elder yanks his pants down in one motion and spreads his legs, bending his knees so that he could slot himself between the space. Daehyun doesn’t want him there and he especially doesn’t want Yongguk’s lips _there_ , teeth scraping against his inner thigh, marking soft red splotches into his skin but he can’t move, almost an observer to the scene.

He can feel Yongguk’s length pressed against him as the male raises himself, levelling their gaze, brushing his lips against his.

“Don’t be. I’ll treat you well. I’ve been waiting for this for so long. To have you as _mine_ again…” Yongguk kisses him and he finds himself kissing back, fingers twitching back to life. The elder makes a sound of pleasure in the back of his throat as Daehyun gingerly wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him closer. A tongue swipes over his bottom lip, pressing gently, and he allows it to slip between his teeth. They kiss just like that for a few minutes, just moving with each other and relearning each other’s mouths, before Yongguk pulls away. He reaches for the bed stand and, for one terrifying moment, Daehyun is convinced that he is going for the gun. Instead, he opens a drawer and pulls out a bottle of lube, nudging him until he sits up, pressing his back against the headboard and propping his legs open. Yongguk slides in there and discards the last remains of their clothing. With two fingers, he plays with Daehyun’s nipples and kisses him as the other slides, slick and easy, into him.

Three fingers later he’s drenched with sweat and trembling, eyes closed and mouth open as he shivers against the slender digits currently stroking his prostate, keeping him just at the brink. When he opens his eyes, the elder is looking at him in awe, watching the way that he squirms when he crooks his fingers just right and sighs as the pleasure fades.

“Please.” Daehyun finally whispers, because he knows that’s what Yongguk wants. To hear him ask, to admit that he wants it, to know that only he could make him beg, even though the words taste like acid on his tongue. “I know you want it too. Just – please, Yongguk.”

From there, it’s muscle memory. He’s laid down and Yongguk slips into him, both groaning for different reasons. Daehyun tries not to think about Zico’s body, cold and dead, lying on the hard ground a floor below them as the elder begins to move, rolling his hips experimentally.

“Are you okay?” Yongguk asks, one arm holding him up above Daehyun as the other brushes hair from his sweaty forehead. It reminds him of the first time that they had sex, cautious and gentle, and he can’t help but think of the box of memories that the elder kept in his study.

“I’m fine, it’s just – _ahh_ – I haven’t had someone so big in a while.”

Yongguk had once told him that no matter what they did during sex, whether Daehyun was collared and on his knees or bound up, Daehyun was always in control. Whatever they did, they were making love. Yongguk didn’t believe in the term _fucking_ or one night stands and he always wanted him to feel good and safe. It was something that happened between the two of them, no one else. What they had done in the kitchen, that had undeniably been the _other_ one. But this…

“Yongguk,” he breathes, tugging on the short strands of the males hair. The elder looks up, from where he had been pressing his face into the juncture of Daehyun’s neck, and the concern in his eyes only encourages him. “Yongguk,” he whispers again, “it’s me, Daehyun.”

“I know who you are.” A single eyebrow raises, as if he’s confused. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no,” he replies hastily when the elder shows signs of pausing, “don’t stop.” Daehyun needs to keep Yongguk distracted with pleasure, keep the other side from taking over the instant that he was given a chance. “Yongguk, do- do you remember what happened before this? Before we were having sex?”

Yongguk gives a particularly hard thrust and he arches up, fingers tightening in the bed sheets with a gasp.

“I… no, I can’t remember.” The elder struggles to think back and there is hope in him, because that means that Yongguk has awoken from his spell and it’s the real Yongguk that he is talking to. “Did I black out again? Where is Zico?”

“Zico…Zico is dead, Yongguk.” The expression on the males face flickers for a second, from confused and aghast to furious, and Daehyun realizes that they’ve stopped moving. With a heave, he flips them over and rocks his hips, feeling Yongguk’s hands immediately come to rest on his hips. It makes him disgusted, doing something like this when his boyfriend had been kidnapped trying to save him, but it was all instinctive now and what his mind told him was _keep him distracted_. The pleasure is pretty distracting too, his stomach clenching tight each time the head of the others cock presses against his prostate.

“What do you mean? I couldn’t have killed him. I don’t remember that. I wouldn’t hurt him, Daehyun. I know that I wanted you back but I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have killed him.” Daehyun quiets his rushed words with a single finger over his lips, silencing him as he continues to rock, moving in serpentine waves on top of the elder.

“It’s okay, Yongguk. I know. There is…there is something else. Someone else. And I need you to believe me – I need you to trust me. Please stay here, okay?” Slowing, he looks down at the male, who stares back at him with a mixture of guilt and desperate innocence.

“Someone else?” The elder asks, hands sliding from Daehyun’s hips to rest beside his body, making no move to stop him as he slowly pulls back, shivering a little in fright. He was _so close_ , a trembling hand reaching out to the bedside table, grasping for the gun as he whispers the name:

“Yongnam.”

It flips a switch and all of a sudden, Yongguk’s features change from soft to furious. His fingers are just brushing the cold metal when his wrist is grabbed, wrenching it back so that the elder could sit up, teeth bared in a terrifying grin.

“You almost got us,” the male laughs, leaning forward to sink his teeth into Daehyun’s collarbones, hard enough that he screamed in pain, “but that’s good. I like a challenge.”

He’s shoved down, chest hitting the mattress, and then he’s entered from behind. Both hands are caught and twisted behind his back, one of Yongguk’s larger hands keeping them there while the other grasps him by his hair, forcing his face into a pillow and pressing down hard.

It hit him, a second later, as to what the elder is trying to do. The soft material moulds over his nose and mouth and makes it impossible to breathe, no matter which way he tries to twist and turn. Screaming only wastes more of his oxygen, but he can’t help it. Every muscle fights the hold, finding it impossible to squirm away. Just as he is about to pass out, Yongguk loosens his hold and Daehyun gasps for air, screaming again when the elder twists his wrists hard enough that the bone feels like it was going to snap.

“Don’t even _think_ of trying to escape.” His head is pushed down again and Yongguk’s lips rest just beside his ear, hissing his words. He pulls out and rests his full weight down on Daehyun’s head, keeping him still as he spasms. “Your precious boyfriend is dead and I’m going to take you far away, where no one will find us and you’re going to serve me until I get bored. I’m going to fuck that dirty mouth of yours every day and make you scream, _beg_ for me to fuck you. Huh? You like the sound of that, slut?”

Daehyun is let up and he can only sob, tears rolling down his cheeks, trying to suck down as much air as he can. The hand in his hair drags him upward, forcing him to crawl onto his knees and face the elder, trembling and crying. He can feel Yongguk look at him, like he’s inspecting some sort of insect with a detached interest, even though his lips are twisted into a cruel smirk.

“Say it.” His head is yanked back and fingers encircle his throat, squeezing just enough to make the threat viable. “Say that you want it. To be my slave. Say that you want _me._ ”

And what does he have to lose? Twenty years from now or at the very moment, he would eventually become boring for Yongguk and he would be killed, just as easily as Zico had died. From his peripheral vision, he can see the gun lying on the bed stand. It’s too far for him to grab, but perhaps…

“Fuck you.” He spits, watching with dark satisfaction as Yongguk’s expression changes from victorious to anger. A hand rises and he’s slapped across the face, sending him tumbling from the bed onto the ground. His head collides with the edge of the table and he’s momentarily stunned, unable to move even when the elder stands, advancing on him.  

He watches, as if in slow motion, as Yongguk grabs the gun and cocks it, pointing the barrel at his chest. In that moment, he surges up and grabs at it.

A bang. The first shot misses them both and goes straight through the headboard and wall.

Yongguk is bearing down on him and the sound of the second shot registers in his brain before the pain does, blooming from his shoulder where the bullet has ripped through him, leaving a clean hole. The force which he is pushed back also rips the gun from the elders hands and he’s left holding it in trembling hands, finger curled around the trigger.

“Stop.” He pleads. Yongguk advances, features twisted into a terrifying grimace. “Yongguk, _please_.” Another step forward and he raises the gun, hands shaking. He can’t do it. “Yongguk!”

A hand reaches down and Daehyun squeezes his eyes shut.

A third shot rings out.

 

In the distance, the red and blue of police lights illuminate the horizons.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
